Forever Love
by MinervaDeannaBond
Summary: After the battle at Skyfall, M is barely clinging to life... and James Bond realizes just how deep his feelings for her run. Amazingly enough, they begin a new life together... and find a forever love. Rated T for safety.
1. Don't Take The Girl

For those of you who were stunned by _Skyfall_'s ending, here's a happier ever after for you - literally. I've always loved the relationship between M and Bond, but this time, did anybody else besides me detect something deeper between them - a spark, perhaps? Call me crazy, but I think M is Bond's match in every way - she's intelligent and tough, but she also has a great heart and she truly cares deeply for Bond. And it's evident that he really loves and respects her, so I can actually picture them together without much difficulty. So... inspired by my new friend RebaForever15 (read her Bond stories; you'll love them!), here is a new M/Bond love story, inspired by my favorite country love songs. In this first chapter, the events pick up right after Bond kills Silva and M collapses in his arms - although Bond and Kincade are able to rush her to the hospital. All Bond can do is pray for a miracle... pray that M won't be taken from him because he's realized just how much he really loves her. Inspired by the final chorus of Tim McGraw's "Don't Take The Girl."

For RebaForever15... thanks a million for your insight and for inspiring me to write my own Bond/M love saga. This is coming from a Yank, but - you're bloody awesome!

* * *

"007… what took you so long?"

Still glaring down at Silva's corpse, hate and disgust seeming to steam from his pores, James Bond was jerked back to reality by the one voice that had always served as his lifeline… the voice that penetrated his carefully constructed wall of defense and touched his heart in a way no other woman's voice ever could. The minute its husky warmth reached his ears, Bond looked up at her and found his anger subsiding. M – his boss, she of the take-no-crap personality and the blue eyes that saw right through you – was standing before him, criticizing his timing, as usual. _Now this is more like it, _he thought, fighting a smile. "I…" He coughed for a second, still chilled by his all-too-recent plunge into the frozen lake. "I got into some deep water," he chuckled, knowing full well that she would roll her eyes at that absurd one-liner and offer a smart retort of her own…

But all traces of levity were suddenly shot to hell with an anguished gasp from M, who swayed on her feet. His heart nearly stopping in his chest, Bond rushed forward and caught his boss as she fell, cradling her in his arms as they both collapsed to the floor. _No, no, no, _the thoughts ripped like bullets through his brain. His hand rested on her side and touched something warm and wet; pulling it back, he could see, even in the dim light of the chapel, that it was coated with M's blood. One of Silva's rats had shot her in the hip and penetrated deep, for her wound was weeping blood at an alarming rate… enough for exsanguination to become inevitable.

M seemed to sense that herself, for her next words were barely a whisper. "I suppose it's… too late to make a run for it."

_Don't say that, _Bond wanted to say, desperate to give his boss an order he never thought he'd have to give her: to live. "Well, I'm game if you are," he said, trying to smile at her through the tears he felt welling in his eyes. _Dear God, M, don't die on me! Don't leave me! I need you… I… _Bond stopped himself mentally, realization hitting him full force. _I love you. _

M opened her eyes, lifting them to Bond's gaze. In her eyes, he saw hunger – for one last look at his face, no doubt – and pride, which was evident in the next words she breathed. "I did get one thing right."

Bond's heart skipped a beat and he lightly brushed M's cheek with his fingertips. "What?"

Managing a weak smile, M reached up and touched Bond's cheek; it was all he could do not to close his eyes at the tender sensation. "You, James. _You_."

The floodgates finally broke and tears flowed freely down Bond's face at this admission. Never before had M said something so sweet, so emotionally charged, to him, and he reached up and clasped her hand in his, feeling a burning desire to kiss her fingers, her palm, her whole hand all over. _God, M, I love you so much. I love you, I love you..._

Just then, M's hand dropped out of his grasp and her body went limp in his arms. Panic and dread gripping his chest like a giant's fist, Bond quickly pressed two fingers to her neck, praying he'd find any sign that she was still alive. Sure enough, the faintest pulse was evident under her skin, and Bond immediately looked to the one person who'd remained silent during this entire ordeal. "Kincade, come help me lift her. We have to get her out of here right now, or she's going to die."

The old Scotsman blinked for a second, but nevertheless rushed to M's side, taking her legs while Bond continued to support her upper body in his arms. "How are we going to get her anywhere, son? It's miles to the nearest hospital, and your car's been blown to Kingdom Come. But we are in a church, if you're talking about friends in high places..." Kincade said, raising his eyes heavenward.

No sooner had he said this than the whirring of helicopter blades sounded above them and searchlights flashed through the windows of the chapel. Blinking, Kincade could just barely make out the Union Jack on the side of the chopper outside – one flown by MI6. Kincade turned astonished eyes to Bond, who was sporting a grim smile. "How the devil..."

Shifting M's weight to one arm, Bond reached into his pocket and pulled out the miniscule radio that Q had given to him just days before. "Emergency contact. Thank God Q made the little bugger waterproof."

* * *

Three hours later at Highland General Hospital, Bond felt like doing anything but thanking God. When M was admitted to the emergency room in critical condition, the doctors had made a bleak prognosis. "She's fading fast," the chief surgeon said, "But we'll do everything we can to try and pull her through."

It had been all Bond could do to keep himself from seizing the man by the front of his scrubs, slamming him against the wall and growling in his face, "You'd better bloody well pull her through." Knowing that M wouldn't want him making such a fool of himself, he had worked his face into a cold facade and given the doctor a tense nod as the emergency room doors swung shut. There was nothing left to do now but wait, but patience had never been one of Bond's virtues. It had been two hours since arriving. _Two bloody hours, _and nobody had so much as poked their head out of the ER to say "She's fine, we're doing our best, sod off, mate." Fed up with the lack of updates and unable to shake the waves of nausea in his stomach brought on by worry, Bond was pacing the waiting room like a caged lion. Watching him from his nearby chair, Kincade wouldn't have been surprised to hear him roar.

"Sit down, James," Kincade finally said after Bond had walked the room a dozen times. "You need to rest."

"No, Kincade. I know you're worried, but –"

"_But _nothing, boy; that wasn't a request," Kincade barked, in the voice Bond remembered from his boyhood – the voice that brooked no argument and promised a thump on the head if you talked back. "You keep pacing like that, you'll wear a hole in the floor and I'll be burying you in it. Killing yourself is not going to help Emma, and you know it."

Under any other circumstances, Bond would have smiled at the name Kincade had bestowed upon M, having mistaken the letter as a shortened form of Emma. Only he knew M's true name, which she kept hidden under penalty of death – so to speak, if anybody knew her death glare well. Only he knew that _lady _was not just a perfect description for M; it was her title. _Lady Barbara Mawdsley. _Would her name die with her, God forbid? Would he ever get the chance to say her name out loud, to call her by it? Would he ever hold her in his arms again and tell her how much he...

"You love her very much, don't you, son?"

Kincade's voice yanked Bond out of the whirlpool of thoughts he'd allowed himself to be sucked into. "M? Of course I love her; she's my boss."

Kincade smiled knowingly as Bond sat down. Even in the tall, hard-muscled man he now beheld, the groundskeeper from Skyfall still saw the boy he knew long ago. "Fool me once, shame on you. Fooling me twice ain't going to happen, James. When you brought her to Skyfall, I could tell how much you loved her as your boss, but watching you hold her in the chapel, the way you've been pacing and fretting over her ever since we got here... it's a deeper love than just colleagues, isn't it?"

Bond chuckled once without looking up at Kincade. "Jet around the world and people see you through a glass darkly. Come home, and all of a sudden, you're clearer than crystal." He finally turned his eyes to his old friend. "It's bloody insane, Kincade. All the women I've ever been with, and not one of them has ever gotten as close to me as M has. Not even Vesper. It was all just a part of the job, but all I've ever wanted was a woman whom I can respect, who I know won't betray me and..." Here he actually smiled. "Who can give me a kick when I need it."

Kincade's eyes crinkled in a grin. "This is coming from you? The cocky little whelp who bloodied every bully who came his way? Who used to sneak girls off to the woods so he could show off by shooting mistletoe out of the trees and then kiss them under it? You actually _want_ Emma to give you a swift kick?"

"That was always half the fun; our verbal jousting matches. She won every single time, although I'd never have told her. Didn't want her to have the satisfaction of seeing me grovel, which I think she actually knew. She liked that I didn't let things get to me; that's why she promoted me to double-0 status in the first place." Silence passed for a moment, broken only by a sigh from Bond. "I did let one thing get to me."

"Her."

Bond sighed again and massaged his temples. "I can't lose her, Kincade. I've lost too many already, but to lose someone I love this much..."

Kincade rested a hand on Bond's shoulder. "You don't have a tunnel to hide in anymore, son. All you can do for Emma is hope and pray."

Bond let out a mirthless laugh. "Pray? God didn't save my parents from falling to their deaths in the Aiguilles Rouges; what makes you think he'll save M?"

"Nothing's impossible. I'm just saying you might want to consider your options." Kincade rose from his chair and began shuffling in the direction of the hospital cafe. "I'm off to the cafe for a bit. You want anything?"

"How about a miracle?"

"Don't ask me for that one," Kincade called over his shoulder as he disappeared down the corridor.

All alone, Bond now had time to think about what Kincade had said to him. Pray, of all things. Pray to a God who hadn't saved his parents from death, whom he hadn't prayed to since he was a boy. Was he really that crazy? _You're crazy enough to have fallen in love with your boss, _an inner voice chided. _Crazy times call for crazy measures. Like Kincade said, nothing's impossible. Give it a shot, you arrogant berk. You love M, but would you do anything for her?_

Grudgingly, awkwardly, Bond lowered himself out of his chair and down onto his knees on the shining hospital linoleum. If he was going to have a come-to-Jesus meeting, so to speak, he was going to bloody well do it right. "All right," he said, feeling like a total idiot for speaking to empty space, "All right. If you can hear me, I've got a favor to ask. My boss is lying in the emergency room under the knife right now, and she may be dying. If you're as all-powerful and all-loving as those childhood sermons said, you can save her. Do you hear me? I'm begging you; save her! If you need to take somebody, then take me!" Bond was dangerously close to shouting now, tears of grief and rage pouring down his cheeks. "Take my heart, take my very breath, anything! I'll take her place if that's what you want! Just please..." Despair filling him, Bond sobbed quietly, wondering if he'd ever see M alive again. "Please don't take M. I'll die for her; I love her that much. Don't take her, please..."

Then all of a sudden...

"Mr. Bond?"

* * *

Cliffhanger! As for the last bit, Bond's never struck me as a religious man, but honestly, if it meant saving the one woman he's ever truly loved, I think he'd pull out all the stops if it meant M had a chance. As Kincade said, nothing's impossible... which is exactly what the angel Gabriel said to Mary. And I think the Lord just might pull off a miracle for Bond... stay tuned and please review!


	2. Come Wake Me Up

When we left off, Bond was on his knees praying for M... little does he know that his prayers have been answered. She is alive, thinking about all that's happened between the two of them... and praying for him to come wake her up. Inspired by "Come Wake Me Up" by Rascal Flatts.

* * *

_I'm dreaming, I've got to be dreaming…_

The last thing M remembered before unconsciousness claimed her was James Bond's arms holding her close… holding her tight, holding on for dear life. He'd never held her like that before – touched her on the arm now and then, certainly; that was proper etiquette and deference coming from an MI6 agent who respected his boss. But held her; actually taken her in his arms and pulled her close to him? Never. And even though she was injured and the pain in her hip was burning like a wildfire out of control, M had felt nothing but tenderness in Bond's arms. It had amazed her. The same arms that could snap a man's neck were cradling her as gently as if she were a baby, strength and protection radiating from the muscle and sinew within.

Nobody had ever held her like that since her husband passed away four years ago… shortly after the mess with Quantum. Malcolm had been the love of her life, the man whom she could always come home to after a stressful day at the office, whom she could just be herself around. With him, she had always been Barbara. Not M, the "evil queen of numbers" who bore the safety of the United Kingdom (and to a slightly greater extent, the world) on her shoulders every single day, who took no crap from anybody. Just Barbara. She'd never shared her Christian name with anybody else, never given anybody a chance to call her by it… but one man had figured it out.

Cheeky bugger, he always knew. Bond, enigma that he was, had somehow found out her full name and had nearly addressed her by it once, until she shut him up with the promise of death if he uttered one more syllable. Ironic now that she was the one at death's door and she'd give anything to hear Bond say her name. _James… where are you?_

No sooner had she thought this than Gareth Mallory's words reverberated through her brain: _You're sentimental about him. _The way he said it had rankled in her chest, because there weren't very many people she was sentimental about. Malcolm and her children, Judith and Brendan, were always first and foremost in her heart, and curse her, she was even fond of her longtime assistant, Bill Tanner, pencil pusher that he was. But Bond… Bond was different. When they first met, her feelings toward him had been far from sentimental – she had told him straight up what she thought about him, calling him a "sexist, misogynist dinosaur" and that his charm was completely wasted on her.

_I should have known he'd take that as a challenge. _He hadn't tried any of his usual funny business, but they had carried on a never-ending battle of words and wits that they both, in actual fact, enjoyed enormously, although they'd never admit it to anyone or to each other. And sure enough, by the time she promoted him to double-0 status, Bond had worked his way into M's heart completely – and blast it if Tanner hadn't noticed. Just at last year's Christmas party, she and Bond had danced together and Tanner joked to her afterward, "Bond's stolen your heart, hasn't he?" M had given him a glare that would have frozen water in July, but looking back now, she realized that he was right – in more ways than one.

Like the thief in the night he was, James Bond had stolen her heart. Stolen it away so fiercely that two little words from Eve Moneypenny had broken it: "Agent down." M had endured three weeks of solid hell after that, bitterly regretting her order to Moneypenny ("Take the bloody shot!") and trying to drown her sorrow over Bond's apparent death in the occasional glass of bourbon – double shots one at a time; she wasn't a bloody alcoholic, for goodness' sake. But it was never enough. Every time she closed her eyes, she could still see his face… and that night when she'd returned home to find him standing at her window, drinking her scotch as though he owned the place, she had thought she was either dreaming or seeing a ghost. Upon realizing it was really Bond, she wanted to weep with happiness – but she was his boss, after all, so she'd composed her face into her famous icy stare and barked at him. And so their relationship had resumed, the two of them keeping their professional distance… until that fateful moment at Skyfall.

Lying here now, in limbo for all she knew, M was trying her hardest to fight her love for James Bond, but she was this was one battle she was finally tired of fighting. She'd been trying to deny her feelings for him for the longest time, but now… she let them sink deep into her very soul. And with them came pain – the pain of knowing she'd never see him again if she was, in fact, dead. God, what she wouldn't give for one more look at him – his close-cropped blond hair, the lips that made every woman wish he would kiss her, and those eyes… Lord, those beautiful eyes, as blue as the Cornish sea…

_The pain's just getting worse… I need to give him up, but I can't. _The memories were burning like everlasting fire in her mind, so much that she realized that she couldn't extinguish them… couldn't put out the love she felt for Bond. _James… James, save me. I know you can't hear me, but save me. Please, James… come wake me up._

M hadn't even realized she'd been talking in her sleep when she felt a gentle hand brush her cheek, a familiar voice whisper, "With pleasure, Sleeping Beauty," and the softest lips capture her own in a tender kiss.

* * *

Well, what a way to be woken up! And another cliffhanger, no less. For this chapter, I really wanted to explore M's feelings about her relationship with Bond, as well as highlight a little bit of her family life. What's going to happen now that she's awake and alive? Stay tuned, and keep the reviews coming!


	3. I'm Gonna Love You Through It

When we left off, Bond had just woken M up with a kiss, but this chapter picks up where Chapter 1 left off. Bond has just been told that M is all right and he's gone back to see her... to confess his love and to tell M that he's going to love her through her recovery. Inspired by "I'm Gonna Love You Through It" by the incomparable Martina McBride.

To all my faithful readers, thank you so much for your support so far! I'm so happy you're enjoying the story, and your reviews always make my day!

* * *

Bond shot up like a jack-in-the-box at the sound of his name. Hurriedly wiping the tears from his face, he straightened himself up just in time to find himself in the presence of Dr. McKie, M's surgeon. "Yes?" he croaked, clearing his throat afterward. _Please God, let this be good news…_

Dr. McKie smiled. "Your prayers have been answered. She lives, and she's going to be just fine."

A wave of relief swept over Bond and tears filled his eyes once again – but this time, they were tears of joy. And hang the macho act; he allowed himself to grin like an idiot. "Thank God," he said on a sigh. "Thank God."

"Well you should; it's a regular miracle," the doctor said in his Scottish brogue. "She'd lost so much blood that we didna think she would make it, even with the transfusion we gave her. But the Almighty works in mysterious ways, for her heart's still beating."

_Her heart, her beautiful heart… I just hope it can beat for me. _Gratitude swelling in his chest, Bond clasped Dr. McKie's hand in both of his and shook it heartily. "Thank you so much, Doctor. MI6 is eternally in your debt, as am I. How can I ever repay you for saving M's life?"

The surgeon's brown eyes twinkled. "By making sure she follows doctor's orders."

Bond snickered at that. "Take it from someone who knows; she's not very good at following someone else's orders. As a matter of fact, she takes tremendous pleasure in flouting them," he said, pride straining his voice.

"Aye; I got a taste of it meself," Dr. McKie replied with a chuckle. "When we were easing her into bed right after the operation, she started talking in her sleep. Muttered something that sounded like 'Touch me there once more and I'm feeding you your own fingers.'"

Bond nearly choked trying to suppress the roar of laughter that threatened to erupt. "That's my girl," he said proudly, more to himself than the doctor. "But just so I won't be risking life and limb myself, what are the doctor's orders?"

"First of all, make sure she gets plenty of rest. That wound in her side is going to take at least six months to heal, if not longer, and sleep is the best way for the body to repair itself. However, when she's strong enough, let her get a little exercise to strengthen the muscles in her hip joint. She'll have a wee bit of a limp for a while, but it'll get better with time. And on that note…" Dr. McKie fished in the pocket of his lab coat and withdrew a small silver jar, which he handed to Bond. "Make sure she rubs this into her wound when she dresses it. It's a special antibiotic ointment that'll keep it clean and prevent it from scarring."

Bond nodded and slipped the jar into his own jacket pocket. "Anything else?"

"Well, at the risk of sounding clichéd…" The twinkle was back in Dr. McKie's eyes. "Give her plenty of love."

"You can take that to the bank, Doctor," a third voice chimed in, startling Bond and Dr. McKie. A second later, Kincade had joined the company, a steaming cup of coffee in his hand. "He'll love her through it, won't you, lad?"

"Indeed I will." Bond returned his attention to the doctor, anxiety beginning to rise in his stomach. "May I see her now?"

"She's sleeping sound as a bairn, but aye, you can. She's in Room 7 at the end of the hall. Sit by her bed and you can talk to her when she wakes up."

Bond didn't need telling twice. Nodding his thanks to Dr. McKie, he set off down the hall, squashing the urge to sprint all the way to M's room like some fool from _The Sound of Music. _When he finally reached Room 7, he slowed his pace to a catlike stride, carefully slipped inside… and felt his heart melt at what he saw. M was indeed sleeping as peacefully as a baby, her chest rising and falling steadily with each breath she took, for which Bond gave silent thanks. She was alive; the worst was over… but Bond knew that he still had a bombshell to drop on her when she awoke. _She's probably going to wish she had enough strength to reach up and throttle me, knowing her, _he thought wryly, but he didn't want to keep his feelings a secret any longer. _I love her with all my heart, and she needs that love to keep her going through this mess. _

Noticing a chair near M's bed, Bond pulled it a little closer to her side and took his seat, folding his hands in his lap and just taking the time to gaze at her like he never had before. He had always regarded M as a handsome woman, but now he could see that she really was quite beautiful in her own way. Her hair, an unabashed shade of burnished silver, was cut in a stylish and modern pixie coif, very becoming to the petite yet regal face she bore. Her face was still youthful, with some laughter lines here and there, and her lips were still full and a beautiful shade of pink, proving that the years had indeed been a friend to her. Bond's eyes moved downward from her face to the rest of her body, and once again, he was reminded of how tiny she really was. Her no-nonsense personality and powerful charisma had always made her seem taller than her actual height (that and the fact that she almost always wore three-inch heels with her smartly tailored suits), which was just barely 5'1". She was small enough that Bond could have picked her up in his arms with no trouble at all. _As soon as she's well enough, I'm going to sweep her up in my arms and whirl her around the room, _he thought, tucking that mental note away for future reference. Her hands were resting on top of the blanket, just begging to be held… _Should I? To the devil with hospital etiquette, she needs to know I'm here, that someone loves her._

Surreptitiously glancing around to ensure that nobody was in sight, Bond crept back over to the door, quietly closed it, and then reclaimed his seat and gently twined his hand around hers, holding it as if she were a priceless porcelain doll. "Oh, M…" he whispered, smoothing his thumb across the back of her hand.

Whether it was his voice or his touch, something stimulated M and she stirred slightly, startling Bond when she began to talk in her sleep. "James…"

_My name. She said my name, _Bond thought, his heart giving a bound. "M?"

"James, save me," M whispered again, "I know you can't hear me, but save me."

Bond's grip on M's hand tightened to a squeeze. "Of course I can hear you. You _are_ safe, M. Safe with me."

Still in the depths of sleep and unable to hear him, M murmured, "Please, James… come wake me up."

Now that was one request from his boss that Bond was not about to ignore. Smiling with a little mischief for the first time that night, he released her hand and moved his own up to caress her cheek. "With pleasure, Sleeping Beauty," he crooned softly, right before lowering his mouth to hers and laying a warm kiss on her soft lips.

It was fairy-tale timing, for right after Bond broke the kiss, M opened her eyes. Whether she was startled to be alive, to see him, or by the fact that he had just kissed her, Bond couldn't tell, but all the same, M was regarding him with wide-flung eyes… _those eyes, _he thought, unable to tear his own away from them. They were almond-shaped and such a deep, regal, sparkling blue, they resembled perfect sapphires. He was so lost in her eyes that he almost didn't hear her say his name again. "James?"

Bond reclasped her hand in his and smiled. "Angels and ministers of grace, defend us. Welcome back."

"Fine bloody time for you to be quoting _Hamlet,_" M said, some of her old snap returning as she tried to reorient herself. "But thank you." A moment passed while she absorbed her surroundings. "Either this is a hospital or the joke's on me and I'm in heaven's nursing home."

Bond chuckled. "You're not ready for the nursing home just yet, ma'am. God knows you're still too lovely."

"And you've still got a bloody cheek," M replied, despite the smile that appeared on her face. She shifted slightly in bed and groaned; undoubtedly her hip was paining her. "I feel like Methuselah."

"Methuselah never looked so good."

"Oh, Bond, give it a rest. I'm an old woman, and you know it."

Bond's face shifted from joviality to tenderness in a heartbeat. "Actually, I don't know it." His thumb resumed its journey across the back of her hand. "You're beautiful, M."

M scoffed. "If you're trying to butter me up…"

Bond smiled. "Is it working?"

M rolled her eyes. "Yes, you smarmy git."

"You always did know how to sweet-talk me," Bond said, glad that she was well enough to carry on their old jousting matches. "But I really do mean it. I think you're beautiful."

M turned her cobalt eyes to Bond, and he was amazed to see the surprise in them. "Bond, you've been with countless young women of incomparable beauty. How can you look at me and think I'm beautiful?"

"Because I've come to realize that those women could never hold a candle to you, M. You're beautiful externally and you have a beautiful heart. You're strong, dedicated, and you truly care about your agents, your queen, and your country, contrary to what some people think. And you've kept me alive all this time. You've believed in me when anybody else would have thrown me to the wolves." He took a deep breath as the feelings prepared to spill over. "That's why I love you."

If M was surprised before, she was shell-shocked now. For a good minute, she couldn't say or do anything but stare at Bond with her mouth half-open in amazement, wondering if she'd heard him correctly. "What did you say?"

"I love you, M."

"You mean, as in… _in love _with me?"

He blushed. James Bond actually _blushed. _"Yes."

The warm feeling suddenly plummeted to icy depths when M pulled her hand out of his grasp and turned her gaze away from him. Bond had figured she might turn away from him, but he hadn't expected it to hurt this much. "I… I'm sorry, M. I shouldn't have… I'll leave if you want…"

Bond was just rising from his chair when M grabbed his hand. "Bond, if you so much as set one foot outside this room, you'll be wearing this bag of IV fluid. Sit down!"

When M spoke in that tone of voice, you did not dare disobey. Bond took his seat once again and found himself pierced by M's eyes, which were ablaze with cerulean fire. "I'm going to give you one order, and one order only, so listen." The fire in her eyes softened to a warm glow. "Don't ever leave me," she whispered, squeezing Bond's hand.

Bond smiled. "Well, how can I refuse an order like that?"

"You'd be wise not to," M said with a warm smile of her own. "Because I love you, too."

It was all Bond could do not to leap into the air and shout. "You do?"

"God help me, yes. After all you've done for me, how can I not love you? My agent, my protector…" M reached up and stroked Bond's cheek. "My hero."

This time, Bond didn't hold back. He clasped the hand caressing his cheek and kissed it, fingers, palm, and all. "Do you know how long I've wanted to do this?"

"Probably long before you snogged me."

Bond threw her a slightly wicked grin. "So you did feel that."

M chuckled. "Yes, I did. I haven't been kissed like that in so long, not since Malcolm died. I'd almost forgotten what it feels like to be loved." A moment of silence passed between them, and M fixed her gaze on Bond again. "James, are you sure you can love a crippled old woman?"

"Don't talk like that. You're going to be fine. I'm going to take care of you and you'll be walking again and bossing me about before you know it."

M closed her eyes and sighed. "I'm sorry, James. I'm just scared to death. I almost died, and now here I am, weak and tired. I might be injured, but I'm still the head of MI6. It's my job to be strong."

"I know you're scared," Bond said quietly. "But now it's my turn to give you an order. You've taken care of me all these years, so let me take care of you now. Let me be your strength and your rock; the one who's there to hold you when you cry and wipe your tears away. You can lean on me and I'll never let you fall." He leaned in and kissed M's forehead. "I'm going to love you through it, M, no matter what. We can do this if you'll just take my hand."

M glanced at their intertwined hands resting in Bond's lap. "I believe I already have."

Bond grinned. "So does this mean you're going to follow doctor's orders?"

"James…"

"Yes?"

"Shut up and kiss me."

Anybody who happened to peek in the window and see James Bond kissing his boss was just going to have to enjoy the show. After all, she did give him an order.

* * *

Sweet, huh? I hope I got M in character here - it really helped me to think of Judi Dench saying these lines, so I kept hearing her voice while I was writing. Keep the reviews coming and keep on showing your love for Bond and M!


	4. You're Where I Belong

Last time, Bond promised M that he was going to love her through her recovery, and now they're both going to realize just how much they belong with each other. Inspired by "You're Where I Belong" by Trisha Yearwood. If you haven't heard this beautiful song before now, go on YouTube and check it out - perhaps you might recognize it from the Stuart Little soundtrack.

* * *

The minute Bond opened the door to M's room, he was overwhelmed by what smelled like an entire florist's shop. "I see my effort was in vain," he deadpanned, observing the six floral arrangements that now decorated the room.

"That depends on how much of an effort you made," M said, laying aside a well-thumbed copy of _Pride & Prejudice _and giving him a scrutinizing look.

"Not a very big one, apparently," Bond said with a sheepish grin, revealing the modest bouquet of red roses and baby's breath he'd been holding behind his back.

"Only a dozen?"

"Yes."

M beamed. "Thank God," she said, holding out her hands for the roses and thanking Bond with a kiss when he laid them in her arms. "They're lovely, James."

"Well, I know how much you hate outlandish gifts," Bond replied, pleased that he had made the right call. "I figured I'd keep it simple."

"Which is more than I can say for _that_," M said with some disgust, jabbing her finger at the biggest floral arrangement in the room – a lurid hodgepodge of tiger lilies and clashing orange and fuchsia hibiscuses. "Hideous, isn't it?"

"That's being kind." Bond walked over to the flowers to inspect them, trying not to gag as their overpowering aroma assaulted his nostrils. "Was the sender of this monstrosity sniffing glue?"

M snorted. "I highly doubt it, unless he's pressing his nose to envelope flaps. It's from Gareth Mallory."

Bond rolled his eyes. Of course; the puffed-up peacock who had criticized M's handling of MI6 affairs and slammed her relationship with Bond himself – to her face, no less. "The same arrogant bit of bureaucratic slime who attacked your authority and your feelings for me sent you flowers?"

"Flowers I despise," M pointed out. "Obviously he chose them to get under my skin." She gave a sour chuckle. "He probably thinks I survived just to spite him."

"He's jealous," Bond said, taking out his pocketknife and shredding one of the hibiscuses to bits. "You're more man than he'll ever be and more woman than he'll ever get."

For the first time since he'd known her, M threw back her head and roared with laughter. Bond watched her with delight, marveling at the hearty, deep, and sexy laugh that was pealing from her throat and lighting her face with a joyous glow. _She really does light up a room when she's happy, _he thought as she paused to dab at tears of mirth, her shoulders still quaking with the remaining giggles escaping her. _I only hope I can give her a lot more to laugh about in the coming months. God knows I don't want to see her unhappy._ "Did I say something wrong?" Bond asked, although he couldn't help chortling himself.

"Bite your tongue," M cackled, her cheeks flushed pink from laughing. "That is the greatest compliment anybody's given me in years. In my job, I have to be as strong as any man, but I think a lot of people forget that I'm still a woman with a heart."

"Trust me; I've never forgotten that," Bond said warmly. "Obviously Mallory hasn't either, or he wouldn't be so intimidated by you."

"Hence the gaudy flowers."

Bond took this as a cue to examine the other arrangements, this time turning to a classy spray of blue delphiniums. "Count your blessings; the others look quite lovely. Who's this one from?"

"Moneypenny."

"I knew she had class," Bond said. "Make sure you go easy on her if she ever takes a desk job."

"Funny you should mention that," M said. "She called me yesterday to wish me well and we talked for a while. She said that she was going to take a desk job soon and I told her that as soon as I got back, she could start work as my new secretary."

"Perfect! You need another woman to talk to, instead of listening to Tanner's ramblings all the time."

Smiling, M shook her head. "Speaking of Tanner, that one next to the delphiniums is from him."

Bond smiled at the humble, yet pretty cluster of English violets arranged in a dainty crystal vase. "You know, it's fitting Tanner chose these for you. Violets symbolize faithfulness, and he really has been a faithful assistant to you all these years."

"He's a good man. I owe him for taking up for me when Mallory tried to force me into retirement."

"Mallory did _what_?" Bond half-growled, having never heard this particular bit of news until now.

"James, calm down. There are better things you can do with your anger… such as tacking Mallory's picture to a board and throwing darts at his nose."

The quip alleviating his irritation, Bond then turned to two side-by-side arrangements of lilies – one white, the other pink. "The cards say they're from Brendan and Judith. Your children?"

"Yes, my son and daughter," M replied, her eyes growing soft at the mention of their names. "Christmas babies both. When they were born, all I had to do was look at their faces to know I'd never gotten more wonderful presents in my life – that is, until my grandchildren came along."

Bond had never felt more respect for this complex woman than he did at that moment. Beneath the steely mask she wore as head of MI6, M was a mother and a grandmother; a woman with a family who loved her. Someday soon, he was going to ask her all about her family, but he didn't want to exhaust her with a full questionnaire just yet. "I'm sure they're relieved to know you're alive."

"Relieved but worried, in Judy's case. She and Brendan were both on the party line when they called me, and Judy has always been a little dramatic, so she was sobbing and shouting over the phone. Brendan, on the other hand, has more of my personality. It was all I could do not to laugh when I heard him say, 'Jude, shut up! She's going to be just fine; you know bloody well that Genghis Khan couldn't stop our mother.'"

"You would leave Genghis Khan a gibbering wreck, and I mean that as a compliment, I swear." When M simply grinned, Bond diverted his attention to the last arrangement, a gorgeous bouquet of vibrant red poinsettias. "Just in time for Christmas. Who sent these?"

"Q, bless him. He's been working for MI6 for such a short time, he doesn't know me from Eve, but he sent me flowers anyway. He's such a thoughtful young man."

"You two would be thicker than thieves if you were to sit down for more than two minutes. He might be a computer genius, but his wit is dryer than toast."

M laughed. "In that case, we just might have to invite him to dinner."

The words _we _and _dinner _were enough to warm Bond internally and remind him of the news he had for M. "M… you're going to be discharged at the end of the week."

M gave him a _no-really _look. "Really? And just when I was about to organize a weekly poker game with the other patients."

Bond snickered; he really had sounded like an idiot stating the obvious. "So, you're going to need a place to recuperate, and no offense, but I don't think you're quite up for a long drive back to London just yet."

"No offense taken. I can't even walk down Memory Lane at this point. And speaking of points, James, were you planning on having one in the next century?" M asked, her famous caustic wit returning.

"The point is, Kincade reminded me of my parents' second manor, which actually isn't very far from here. It's by a loch like Skyfall, but it's a little smaller and more comfortable, and it has beautiful forest trails that will be wonderful for you to walk in the spring. Kincade has kept it up well over the years, so it's ready for us… if you want to stay with me, that is."

"_If _I want to stay with you? Don't make me beat you over the head with these roses for asking such a stupid question; of course I want to stay with you!" M exclaimed, her sapphire eyes fierce. "I made you promise never to leave me, and I'm going to bloody well hold you to that promise."

Bond grinned wide enough to rival the Cheshire Cat. "You might be holding me to my promise, but as soon as we get home, I'm going to hold _you_ to myself and never let you go."

"Silver-tongued devil."

"And I'm about to prove it," Bond said wickedly as he lowered his head to M's lips for a deep kiss.

* * *

Four days later, Bond and M were cruising through the Scottish Highlands in his rented BMW, enjoying the view en route to their new home. "So what is this place called?" M asked, tearing her eyes away from the splendid view outside the window. "I know your parents called the other estate Skyfall because the sky seemed to fall upon the house and surround it."

Bond grinned wryly. "You're going to laugh when I tell you."

"No, I won't. What is it?"

"Avalon."

"Avalon? After the island in Arthurian legend?"

"One and the same. It was often our favorite summer retreat when I was a boy. I remember swimming with my mother in the loch and hunting with my father in the woods, and Kincade waging war against the birds who tried to nest in his prized rosebush. It wasn't drafty and cold like Skyfall; we always felt so warm and comfortable there."

M was quiet for a moment. "You have happy memories of that house. That's why you're bringing me there, isn't it? Because it's an atmosphere of joy, not gloom; of healing, not hurt."

Bond smiled. M always knew how to touch the heart of the moment. "Exactly," he said, taking her hand and kissing it. "We're here."

Bond guided the car through a stone gateway bearing the name _Avalon _and all the way up a gravel path to a house that looked less like a manor and more like a cozy stone cottage, albeit a slightly grand one. "It's small compared to Skyfall."

"It's perfect," M said with a smile. "Just right for two."

"Three," Bond quipped upon seeing Kincade come running out the door to meet them. "He'll be staying with us, too."

"I was hoping he would, after all he did for us."

Kincade immediately ran to M's door and opened it for her, extending his hand to her to help her out. "Welcome home, Emma," he greeted her, breaking into a jovial smile. "You look radiant."

"Thank you, Mr. Kincade," M said, flashing the groundskeeper a grateful smile and grunting a little as he eased her out of the car; Bond hurriedly came over to take her other hand. "I'm certainly glad you think I look radiant, because I feel anything but."

"No fears," Kincade assured her. "Avalon will work its magic on you in no time at all. A happy Christmas here, some walks in the woods, and a few swims in the loch when spring comes, and you'll be fit as a fiddle – although you're a fair sight prettier."

"All right, quit flirting," Bond threatened playfully, putting an arm around M's shoulders. "She belongs with me."

Kincade rolled his eyes, M chuckled, and Bond winked at her as the three of them made their way, arm in arm, into the house. The interior, M was pleased to see, was not fussy or lavish; rather, it had the feel of a cozy country house, all warm oak floors and rustic accents. A cheerful crackling sound from a nearby room suggested that a fire was burning, and a delicious aroma wafting through the air clearly told them that something was cooking in the kitchen. "That smells wonderful, Mr. Kincade."

"I'll second that," Bond said, tightening his grip on M's arm as Kincade let go of her other one. "What are you cooking? I could eat a horse."

"Since this is a special occasion, I figured I'd pull for a traditional Scottish supper. Chicken and barley broth, roast beef, and at the risk of making us all tipsy…" Kincade chuckled. "My own version of sherry trifle." He started back toward the front door. "Shall I fetch Emma's bags and take them up to her room?"

"Please," Bond said appreciatively. "Don't worry about my bags; I'll get them myself later."

"I wasn't going to get them anyway. Devil if I'm going to give you a sense of entitlement to go with your ego, boy," Kincade scolded, cuffing Bond on the head as he walked out.

Bond shook his head before turning warm eyes to his boss. "Shall we?"

* * *

M kept a tight grip on Bond's arm as he led her into the next room, which did indeed have a bright fire leaping and crackling in the stone fireplace. The worst of the pain in her hip was gone, but it still hurt to so much as take a few baby steps. Thankfully, she had a pair of strong arms to give her the support she needed – and to ease her onto the couch, which was just what Bond did. "Are you all right? Anything you need?" he asked, concern etched into the strong features of his face.

"I'm a little sore, but that's to be expected," M replied, gently massaging her side. "And I can't think of anything I need at the moment."

"How about a drink?"

"Have I ever turned one down?"

M heard Bond chuckle softly as he opened the nearby liquor cabinet and drew out a decanter of scotch and two crystal tumblers, into which he poured a fifth of the amber liquid. "Ice?" he asked.

"No, thank you." A moment later, Bond handed her one tumbler and clinked his own against it, taking a seat beside her on the couch. M tipped her glass against her lips and let the scotch slide down her throat, warming her from within… or maybe it was the fire that was warming her so much. No, she knew exactly what it was. "James?"

"Hmm?"

"Do you remember what you said a few minutes ago? That I belong with you?"

"Of course I do. I meant every word of it."

M felt herself smiling again. _Lord, I'm getting sentimental in my old age. _"I know you did. It's just that I haven't felt like I belonged anywhere but behind my desk at MI6 in so long. I haven't felt like I belonged with anyone since my husband's passing, and my house hasn't felt like home with me rattling around in it all by myself. So you can imagine how touched I was when Kincade said 'Welcome home' and you said that I belonged with you."

"Well, I had to say that. I'd have been wearing my guts for garters if I'd said you belonged _to _me." Bond laughed as M seized a nearby throw pillow and walloped him over the head with it. "On the contrary, _I'm _the one who belongs to you. I'm your agent, yes, but… you don't merely own my life. You own my heart. I've never felt safe with anybody else but you, because you're the one who's always gone through hell and back to keep me safe. And I'm telling you now, it feels wonderful. I never wanted to belong to anybody before, but that's changed now. I'm yours, M."

Oh hang it, they were _both_ going sentimental. M wanted to smack 007 for letting his guard down, but Barbara Mawdsley wanted to kiss James Bond for making her feel safe, for keeping her warm… for letting her know that she was home at last. And in the end, it was the woman, not the MI6 chief, who kissed the man, not the agent. For beneath the bombast, the ice, and the walls of defense, they were ultimately human – people who, like everybody else, needed a place to belong and someone to belong with… who needed to be loved.

All of a sudden, Bond broke the kiss and glanced out the window. "M, look! It's snowing!"

M followed Bond's finger to the window and sure enough, thick white snowflakes were tumbling out of the heavens, frosting the trees and promising to turn the world white in the morning. It was a beautiful sight, made even more romantic by the warm fire and the fact that M was still wrapped in Bond's arms, safe and warm. "Winter's here and Christmas is coming," she said, still marveling at the unexpected snow. "I almost didn't think I'd have anybody to share it with."

Bond caressed her cheek. "You'll never be alone again."

"Thank God," M said softly, leaning against her newfound love as they continued to watch the snow fall. "You're where I belong, James." She closed her eyes as Bond dropped a tender kiss on her forehead, grateful that she was finally home.

* * *

Christmas is coming, so that means the next chapter is going to be about Bond and M's first Christmas together!

P.S. If you want to see the house that was my inspiration for Avalon, go to my profile and click the link.


	5. All I Want For Christmas Is You

Merry Christmas belated, everybody! I'm so sorry about the wait on this one - I had a busy Christmas week and I couldn't get to the library to update until now. But better late than never, right? Last time we saw Bond and M, they had just arrived at Avalon and the snow was falling outside... now Christmas is definitely on the way, and everybody's getting the house ready for the Yuletide celebration. But before they can deck the halls, Bond and M both have ideas of the perfect gifts for one another - but Bond reassures M that all he wants for Christmas is her. Inspired by my favorite country Christmas song, "All I Want For Christmas Is You" by Vince Vance and the Valiants.

* * *

"We'll be gone an hour, two at the most. You don't have to worry about us."

From her position on the parlor couch, M shot Bond a cynical look. "You and Kincade alone in the woods with an ax? Would you care to tell me again that I shouldn't worry?"

Bond snickered as he pulled on his black winter coat. "Trust you to make looking for a Christmas tree sound like murder."

"Gallows humor is part of my job, James."

"Not to mention your charm." In the middle of slipping on his gloves, Bond paused and studied M for a moment. "Seriously, though, are you going to be all right while we're out? After what happened to you, I still don't feel right leaving you alone."

"James..." M pulled her blanket more snugly around her and smiled. "It's been a month since the events at Skyfall. I've been in contact with MI6, and they've confirmed that all of Silva's henchmen are either dead or in custody, so I'm safe. And save for that one little incident last week, I highly doubt anybody is going to attempt a break-in anytime soon."

Bond shook his head. "You are never going to let me forget that, are you?"

"Let me put it this way. You have managed to outwit the most brilliant and sadistic criminal masterminds in the world, but I never thought I'd see the day when the great James Bond was outsmarted by a squirrel."

Bond felt the back of his neck go red at this. Last week, he and Kincade had hauled a fresh load of firewood into the house – unbeknownst to them, they had also hauled in a squirrel, which had been curled into a hollow in one of the logs. When Kincade dropped the log in question onto the floor, the squirrel leaped out in a whirl of fur, scaring the crap out of Kincade and Bond. For the next ten minutes, bedlam reigned at Avalon – Bond and Kincade, armed with a broom and a butterfly net, chased the squirrel around the ground floor of the house, much to the everlasting delight of M, who lay on the couch roaring with laughter at the show she was getting. At this memory, however, the embarrassment began to drain away as Bond decided that hearing her laugh had been worth the temporary loss of his dignity. "Well, I'm certainly glad it jingled your bells," he said, allowing himself a wry smile.

"To watch you deck the halls with boughs of folly? Best laugh I've gotten in ages." M chuckled and pulled closer to her a bowl that Bond hadn't noticed before. "While you're out today, I'm going to deck the halls a little myself."

From where he was standing, Bond could make out the flash of a sewing needle and something red coiled in M's lap. "What's this project?"

"Cranberry garlands," M replied, holding up a long string of vibrant red cranberries; now that Bond looked, he could see more in the bowl next to her. "I thought perhaps we could wrap these around the tree when we decorate it. When I was little, we always made cranberry garlands for our Christmas tree. It looked so lovely with the red among the greenery and everything glowing in the candlelight."

Bond's first thought was that it was a terrific idea, but a second look at the coil of cranberries made inspiration strike home. _M, my darling, you're a genius. You've just made me realize what I'm going to give you for Christmas. _"I think that's a wonderful idea," he said aloud, coming over to kiss M goodbye. "And we're going to find the perfect tree for it, knock wood."

"Chop wood, you mean," said Kincade, who appeared in the doorway with an ax – blade covered – over his shoulder. Using his free hand, he tipped his hat to M in greeting. "All right, Emma?"

"Yes, and thank you for the cranberries, by the way."

"My pleasure. The tree'll look a treat with those cranberries on it, along with all the other lights and baubles we've kept in storage for years. It's about time this house had a proper Christmas celebrated in it. But, we'll never get it started unless we set out, so..." With a wave to M, Kincade started out the door. "Stay warm!"

"And be safe," Bond whispered in M's ear before following Kincade outside.

"You might try following your own advice, James," M called after his departing back just before the door closed. As soon as she was sure they were gone, however, she set her cranberries aside, took out her mobile, and speed-dialed Tanner. "Tanner, I'm glad I caught you. I've got a favor to ask."

* * *

"Kincade, I've got a favor to ask."

"I'm not lending you money. You still owe me 30 quid, you little thief."

"Relax, Shylock. I've got plenty of money, as you bloody well know."

Kincade put on a dry smile. "Old habits die hard. What's the favor?"

Bond paused for a moment as he and Kincade strode along through the woods, the snow making muffled crunching sounds beneath their boots. It was a bright December morning – the air clean and crisp, the sky a brilliant blue, and the snow sparkling in the sunlight. "How much of Mum's jewelry did you keep after she died?"

"Every last bit of it," Kincade answered with pride. "Your mother had some of the most unique and valuable pieces of jewelry I've ever seen; hanged if I was going to let it all go to the highest bidder on that blasted eBay."

"Well, thank God you didn't. I assume the cranberry pearls are still among the other jewels?"

"They are indeed, with the others in the attic safe back at the house."

"I'm glad to hear that, because I want to give them to M for Christmas."

Kincade stopped in his tracks and gazed at Bond in admiration. "I wondered what you were going to give Emma for Christmas, and is that a good call! What made you decide on the cranberry pearls?"

"The cranberry garlands she was making when we left," Bond replied as they resumed their walk. "When I saw them, I remembered Mum's necklace and how I'd never seen pearls like that before when I was a boy."

Kincade chuckled fondly. "Your mother always did love flouting convention – something she passed on to you in spades. I think she'd be pleased that you're giving her pearls to another great lady."

Bond couldn't help but smile at that. "You think so?"

"I know so, son."

Following this tender exchange, Bond and Kincade walked along in silence until they came to a grove of evergreen trees – and then came the good-humored arguments over which tree was _the _tree. When they finally settled on an eight-foot fir tree, Kincade hauled off with the ax and struck the tree trunk so hard that chips of bark flew in all directions, one nearly clipping Bond in the head. But Bond had the last laugh when an old furry friend jumped out of the tree and nearly landed dead in the middle of Kincade's face. Their excursion ended with the two of them dragging the tree home, Kincade threatening to make squirrel stew while Bond laughed it up, enjoying every second.

* * *

In the two weeks leading to Christmas, Bond, M, and Kincade set about decking Avalon in full Yuletide splendor. Christmas lights in red, green, blue, and white shone merrily outside, thanks to Bond and Kincade's teamwork. M's beautifully made garlands and wreaths of holly, evergreen, and fruit brought an old-fashioned air to the décor. And all three of them together trimmed the Christmas tree, which did indeed look a treat by the time they were done. White lights twinkled among the branches, bright cranberries popped ruby-red against the green of the tree, and crystal ornaments and multicolored glass balls sparkled in the light of the fire. M remarked that it was a magical moment, but Bond whispered that the true magic was yet to come...

And on Christmas Eve, it did. With Kincade off to bed early, Bond and M were snuggled up together on the couch, enjoying a glass of wine while the tree continued to shine and flames danced in the hearth. Bond had put on an album of Christmas jazz, so "White Christmas," played soft and mellow, warmed the romantic ambiance that filled the room.

"Beautiful," Bond murmured, seemingly to himself.

"It certainly is," M said, taking a sip of her wine and continuing to gaze at the tree. "We did ourselves proud with that tree."

A soft laugh resonated in Bond's throat. "I wasn't talking about the tree."

M blushed as she realized what Bond meant. "You tell me that nearly every single day and I've still not gotten used to it. Perhaps it's because I still think of myself as an old woman."

"You're a beautiful woman," Bond told her, setting his wineglass down on the coffee table. "And you deserve something beautiful at Christmas." With that, Bond reached into his pocket and pulled out a small square box wrapped in blue. "Happy Christmas, M."

It was with a half-cynical, _you-shouldn't-have _smile that M accepted the gift, but once she unwrapped it and opened the box, the smile transformed into an expression of astonished delight. "Oh, James..."

A string of deep red pearls, glowing garnet in the firelight, was coiled in the box. Gently, M lifted the necklace out and held it before two pairs of eyes – her own, aglow with surprise, and Bond's, alight with merriment. "Wherever did you get these? I've never seen pearls this exquisite in my life."

"Actually, I've had those for a long time. They belonged to my mother." Bond's smile was warm. "My father gave them to her on their first Christmas together. And since this is _our _first Christmas together, I thought it seemed like a lovely tradition to carry on."

Touched with true emotion, M caressed Bond's cheek and kissed him. "I'm honored." She turned the pearls over again, admiring their rich red hue. "Their color is marvelous. They must have been quite unique when your mother wore them."

"My mother enjoyed bucking the status quo," Bond said with a rather impish grin. "She lived during an era when most women wore either white or black pearls, so yes, she was the toast of the town when she wore her cranberry pearls."

"Cranberry pearls?" Catching the direction of Bond's eyes, M turned her attention to the Christmas tree, draped with her cranberry garlands... which the necklace did indeed bear a striking resemblance to. She turned back to Bond, eyes full. "You cheeky devil," she said softly. "Go look under the tree. I have a gift for you, too."

His turn to be surprised, Bond did as he was told and returned to the couch with a gold-wrapped parcel. He raised his eyes to M's; she simply smiled. "Open it," she said, raising her wineglass to her lips.

Tearing off the wrapping paper with two quick yanks, Bond opened the box and shook his head at what he beheld inside. Smiling, he lifted out the Union Jack bulldog that had previously been the occupant of M's desk. "Let me guess: old dog, new tricks?"

M snickered. "Something like that. I also wanted you to have him because you're like a bulldog yourself. You sink your teeth into something and don't let go until you've won, and you're certainly stubborn. But you're also fiercely protective and loyal, two qualities valued in bulldogs... and two that I value highly in my agents, my friends..." Here she laid her hand on his thigh. "And my love."

"Just your sweet way of telling me I'll learn to love him."

"You learn to love old dogs. I learned to love you, didn't I?"

"Touché." Bond set the bulldog down on the table and studied him for another second. "By the way, how did you get him here?"

"Tanner brought him one day while you and Kincade were out gathering holly and evergreen for the wreaths. I'd called him the day you got the Christmas tree and asked him to bring the dog up to the house." M smiled at the memory. "It was so good to see him. He updated me on everything that's been going on at MI6 since I've been away. Apparently, Mallory's in charge temporarily, and he's driving Tanner insane with questions as to my whereabouts."

"And what has Tanner told him, since obviously he's been here and he knows?"

M's smile became slightly devious. "Not a bloody thing, because prior to his visit, he didn't know where I was. All he knew was that I was in Scotland recovering from my wound. And now that he does know everything, he's going to go back to MI6 and wish Mallory a happy Christmas from me, because nothing drives people crazier than two things: that you're alive and happy."

Bond barked a delighted laugh. "Tanner will deliver that message with absolute relish; I can see it now. It'll be one Christmas present Mallory will regret asking for."

"Speaking of which..." M held up her new necklace once again. "Give me a hand?" she asked, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

Bond caught the twinkle in her eye and grinned, his own eyes glittering. "My pleasure." He took the pearls from M and she turned her back to him, waiting. Undoing the gold clasp, Bond reached around M and draped the pearls around her neck, re-clasping the necklace in the back... right before he dropped one sweet kiss after another on the nape of M's neck, his lips gently nuzzling the softness of her skin. He heard her sigh with delight and whispered to her, "You know..." Kiss. "As much as I love your gift..." More kisses. "Just having you here in my arms is all the gift I need."

"Mmm, really?" M asked, shifting in his arms so that he could kiss her cheek. "So we could do without the tree, the decorations, and the rest of the gifts?"

"Everything," Bond said, planting kisses all along the side of her neck. "Father Christmas couldn't have brought me a better present than you, and we could toss out the holly and baubles for all I care."

He was about to move up to M's lips when she held a finger up to his. "Even that?" she asked, raising her eyes to the wrought iron chandelier above them. From the center of the fixture hung a ball of mistletoe, bursting with berries and tied with a bright red ribbon.

Bond smiled. "Definitely not that," he said, gently pulling M closer to him and claiming her lips with his. A round of passionate making out followed, as only the tradition of mistletoe could demand. When they both came up for air, Bond lovingly traced the contours of M's face and said, "All I want for Christmas is you, M."

"Barbara."

At the sound of her Christian name, Bond's heart gave a leap of joy. Was she finally giving him permission? "I can say it now?"

M's sapphire eyes sparkled. "Say it again, James, and this time... say my name."

Knowing that she had just given him another gift, Bond took M's face in his hands and gazed into her eyes. "All I want for Christmas is you... Barbara," he purred, silently giving thanks for all the gifts he'd received: M's life and love, the pleasure of holding her in his arms, the sweetness of her kisses... and for the warmth and joy surrounding them that night, just as it did for another couple on the first Christmas so long ago.

* * *

Aww! I hope this chapter renewed your Christmas spirits. My inspiration for M's Christmas gift actually came from a gorgeous necklace of cranberry pearls that I tried on a few weeks before Christmas. I loved their color and their uniqueness so much that I thought it might be something Bond would give to M - and it would mean even more if it was something that once belonged to his mother. And for some reason, I picture Monique Delacroix Bond as a woman who enjoyed defying convention and wearing clothes and jewelry that were very different, yet beautiful, for their time. If you want to see the cranberry pearl necklace, visit my profile for a link, as well as for Kenny G's versions of "White Christmas" and "Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas," which were the two pieces of Christmas jazz I pictured playing during the gift scene. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year, everybody!


	6. When She Cries

I'm so sorry for the delay on this chapter; it really took me a while to get my thoughts and ideas organized for it, because it deals with some difficult stuff from M's past as well as Bond's own feelings about events past and present. In this chapter, M is beginning to regret giving Silva up and the pain of the aftermath of it hurts so much that she cries at night... only Bond hears her. He goes to comfort her, all while thinking about how she's always been there for him and how it hurts him when she cries.

* * *

_Keep calm and carry on. Whoever coined that cheerful little phrase needs their bloody skull crushed._

Even in today's age of political correctness, there were still some stubborn (or stupid, depending on one's point of view) people who held fast to the belief in the British stereotype: that anyone who so much as said "Boo" with a British accent was an uptight stiff with the emotional capacity of a flea. What people didn't realize was that the pale, seemingly frigid façade was the only way to mask true grief and suffering – especially if one was in a position of leadership.

As head of MI6, M didn't have the luxury of mourning when an agent was killed, and she certainly couldn't afford to break down crying in front of her entire staff like some prima donna from a melodramatic American soap opera. It was her duty to be strong, unflappable, stoic for her agents, her country, her queen… her entire world. MI6 couldn't bloody well rally around a sniveling, sobbing old woman – they needed, to borrow Mrs. Thatcher's nickname, an iron lady. And an iron lady M was – in public, anyway. She took no crap from her staff or the double-0s and she made judgments that were always weighted and sometimes, seemingly heartless… but in this job, you had to think with your head, not your heart. And very few people knew that M's heart was every bit as breakable as the next woman's, and had been broken more than once.

In the last four years, there had been three major heartbreaks in her life, the biggest of which was the death of her husband. The day of his death was still fresh in M's mind, replaying itself over and over again like a film clip. She had returned home to find him in bed already. Assuming he was asleep, M had crept to Malcolm's side and dropped a kiss to his forehead – only to draw back in horror when her lips touched skin that was colder than ice. Frantic, she had tried CPR and the emergency defibrillator she kept in the flat, but it was too late. Her husband of 38 years was gone, dead of a massive heart attack, according to the autopsy report. And in the month following the funeral, M threw herself into her work with a vengeance, so furiously that Bill Tanner had called her a slave driver. Little did he know that she went home every single night and wept for Malcolm's memory, because she couldn't afford such a breach of character at MI6.

Her second heartbreak was when she thought Bond was dead. He'd been missing for three weeks, and since he'd been shot and fallen Lord-knows-how-many feet off a bridge into a rushing river, it was the logical thing to assume that he was dead. At the time, M sorely wished that her head would tell her heart, because it felt like it was going to burst with the pain of losing her best agent, her friend… and the man she loved. When she was tasked with writing his obituary, M had hardly been able to write it without tears falling onto the keyboard of her computer. She'd completed the thing, sent it off to the newspaper, and gone to his memorial service, where she'd stood stone-faced throughout the whole thing, much to the delight of Gareth Mallory's bunch from the Intelligence and Security Committee, who had long thought that her heart was as ironclad as her resolve. Oh, she'd heard them whispering when they thought she couldn't hear them – how the evil ice queen of MI6 didn't even shed one tear for her precious James Bond, the golden boy of the service. "Shows how much she values her agents' lives," they'd sneered. If they had only seen how she went home every night that week – and for two weeks after – and cried for the man she'd lost, they would have found out just how much she valued her beloved agent's life.

Her third heartbreak, the one that was paining her more than it ever had, was Raoul Silva. She hadn't lied to Bond when she said that he was a brilliant agent – he was one of the best that MI6 had ever seen, until Bond himself came along. But when he started hacking the Chinese, thoroughly convinced that he alone could topple the Communist regime without the help of M or his fellow agents, he'd been caught and held prisoner by the Chinese government. Once again, M hadn't lied to Bond when she said she gave Silva up in return for six MI6 agents that had been held prisoner, but she had lied about two other things – lied by omission. One matter she couldn't discuss in front of the staff; it was too personal to say. The other was that yes, she did regret giving Silva up. After seeing him locked in the isolation chamber, a hollow, broken man physically and psychologically scarred by torture and cyanide, she began to wonder if what he said was true. Was all of this really her fault? _Yes, it was. _

_MI6 was attacked because of me. My agents died because of me. Bond nearly got killed because of me. How much more hurt can I possibly cause? _The tears coming too fast for her to stop them, M rolled over and let her pillow welcome the bitter salt of her pain, sobbing quietly so no one could hear her… or so she thought.

* * *

If the road to hell was paved with good intentions, James Bond was well on his way to shaking hands with Satan. He'd never been lucky with any kind of relationship, romantic or otherwise, and certainly never lucky in love – although according to the MI6 grapevine, the entire British Secret Service thought that he was certainly lucky in another respect altogether. That was tosh to begin with; they had no clue who he really was or what made him tick. He didn't have many friends because years in Her Majesty's Secret Service had taught him to trust no one, and his romantic relationships never lasted because he was afraid of betrayal and heartbreak… both of which had resulted when Vesper Lynd sold him out in Venice. He had placed his faith in Vesper; given her his heart, and she broke it in return. His dreams of finally settling down, of marrying a woman he loved, were shattered, so much that Bond gave up hope of them ever coming true. From that moment on, he trusted no woman... except one.

How many times had M pulled him up out of the muck when it felt like his every hope and dream was dashed? After Vesper's death, it had been M who restored his hope and gave him the strength to try again, but she hadn't been mawkish about it in the slightest. M wasn't the type of woman to wear her heart on her sleeve; her idea of love was tough love, and Bond knew that if she hadn't been there to give him a good swift kick in the rear after his little vengeance quest, he would probably be dead himself. But love it was and always had been – love that kept him alive and going, for his sake and for hers.

_She's always been there for me, _Bond thought as he lay awake in bed, one arm thrust behind his head and the other resting on his chest. _Even when I've screwed things up beyond repair, M takes up for me, defends me, and even fights for me. How does she cope with it all and still love me for who I am? _He closed his eyes as guilt began to settle in the pit of his stomach. _God, I've been such a pillock. She calls me her best, but I'm the one who's caused her pain over the years, with all the stupid mistakes I've made. _Cursing himself, Bond flipped over and gave his pillow a punch. _Sod it, I can't sleep. Might as well go downstairs and find something to eat; I'm hungry anyway. I'll peek in on M along the way and see that she's well._

Hauling himself out of bed, Bond padded down the hall to M's room and stopped at her door, intending to peek in on her... only he froze when he heard something come from inside. Pressing his ear against the door, he listened for the sound again – there it was. It was... _sobbing. _M, who never cried, was weeping like a lost child. _Oh, M... Barbara, my love... _A stab of pain pierced Bond's heart at the sound and it was all he could to keep himself from rushing in there and pulling her into his arms, to apologize for hurting her so much... but he stayed the urge, reminding himself that despite her emotional vulnerability, M would still wring his neck if he barged in and scared the living daylights out of her. Steeling himself, Bond raised a hand and knocked on the door softly, just loud enough to attract M's attention. "M? Darling, are you all right?"

From the other side, Bond heard the rustling of fabric; no doubt M was trying to assume a comfortable position beneath the blankets to keep up appearances. "I'm fine, James," came the reply, although Bond could hear the huskiness brought on by tears. "What are you doing up?"

"Well, I couldn't sleep, so I was going to get something to eat and I thought I'd pop in and check up on you along the way. Can I come in?"

There was a very pregnant pause. Bond was positive that M was weighing her options like she always did – if she said no, he would be suspicious; if she said yes, she ran the risk of him seeing that she had been crying. After what seemed like an eternity of silence, the answer came from the opposite side of the door. "Yes."

After looking around to see that all was well and they hadn't woken Kincade up, Bond opened the door and slipped inside M's room, shutting the door behind him. M was curled up under the blankets and she appeared comfortable enough, but in the moonlight shining through the window, Bond could see that her face was still shiny with the tracks of the tears that had coursed down her cheeks. "Hey. Are you sure you're all right?" he asked, carefully sitting down on the bed beside her.

"James, I'm fine," M repeated stubbornly, pulling her comforter tight against her chest.

"Mmm-hmm." Bond reached out and stroked M's cheek, pulling his hand back and rubbing his fingers together with the remnants of her tears. "From the look of these…" Here he held up his glistening fingers, "You're about as fine as a lost puppy." When M sighed in resignation, Bond moved closer to her and put his arm around her shoulders. "What's wrong? Why are you crying, Barbara?"

Whether M chuckled or sobbed in the next instant, Bond couldn't tell. "Leave it to you to play the name card."

Bond chuckled softly. "You're talking to the best poker player in the service. I know my trumps well." He traced M's cheekbone with his free hand, moving his finger down from the arch of her cheek to the corner of her mouth. Perhaps it was because she had rarely smiled in his presence before, but only recently had Bond noticed that M had dimples – sweet little dents in the cream of her skin. He'd made her giggle like a girl the first time he'd kissed each one… but no giggles were heard now and those dimples were nowhere to be seen, almost as if they had been washed away by M's tears. But what brought those tears on in the first place? "Barbara, talk to me. What's hurting you so?"

M closed her eyes and bowed her head, ashamed. "Silva," she whispered, fresh tears trickling free.

Instinctively, Bond's grip on M tightened at the mention of Silva's name, both out of a fierce protective desire and of anger at what he had almost done to M. And even though he was dead, Bond knew that the very thought of Silva still cut M to the marrow. "How?" he said, straining to keep the anger out of his voice.

"It's all my fault."

"What?" Bond was shocked. "No, it's not; it's not your fault!"

"Yes, it is, James; it _is _my fault. You saw Silva and you heard what he said. _I_ gave him up, _I _left him to die, and he became the monster he was because of me. If I hadn't sold him out to the Chinese, he wouldn't have attacked MI6 and my agents wouldn't be dead." M finally met his gaze, her beautiful cobalt eyes awash. "I've hurt so many people, James, you included. How many more will be hurt because of me?"

Bond's heart felt as though it had just plummeted off a cliff and was still falling. M had said that she had no regrets about giving Silva up, and now she did? Had she changed her mind or… had she lied to him, as Silva said she had done numerous times before? Whatever she had done, it didn't matter. Bond knew that M wasn't the ruthless, unfeeling woman that everybody else perceived her as – she wouldn't have willingly given Silva up unless she had a very good reason. But instead of a normal response, he answered her question with a question. "Why did you really give him up?" When she looked at him in confusion, Bond said, "I know you. You wouldn't have given him up on a whim; you had to have had a bloody good reason for it."

M cleared her throat. "I told you; he was hacking the Chinese. He thought he could singlehandedly destroy the Communist regime in China, and it got him captured by the government."

"Good reason, but not good enough. You said you gave him up in exchange for six MI6 agents held prisoner. Those agents undoubtedly held valuable information that they were probably going to be killed for, and you made a deal to spare their lives. You did what you had to do."

M shook her head and dabbed at her tears. "You don't know the half of it. Hardly anybody does except Tanner, and that's purely because he's my chief of staff." She inhaled deeply and let it out, steeling herself for what she was about to say next. "One of those six agents was my son."

Bond felt his jaw drop open. "Brendan? He was a double-0?"

"Yes. He knew the line of work I had and he wanted to become an agent anyway, and against my wishes, the M of his day, a man by the name of Michael Marsden, promoted him to double-0 status. Then again, I was only chief of staff back then; I had about as much sway as Switzerland at a G20 summit. And Brendan's so much like me – stubborn and determined to finish the job, no matter the cost. He was a brilliant agent, and I was so proud of him I could have burst. But when he was sent to China to retrieve a precious jewel stolen from the British Museum, he and five other agents were captured and held prisoner for six months. James, to be a mother in that position and unable to do anything to help your child… it almost killed me. So when the Chinese government offered us their six prisoners in exchange for Silva, I took it. When you're a mother and your child is in danger, you'll do anything to protect them... even make a sacrifice that you'll someday pay the ultimate price for."

Bond almost couldn't speak. Not only was M's story a shell-shocker; it reminded him just how little he knew about her. She was as big a mystery as he was. "Nobody knew that you gave Silva up to save your son? Did they even know that Brendan was your son?"

M shook her head. "Only Marsden and I knew. If you're related to somebody in the service, it's better if you keep it under wraps for fear an enemy will discover the link and use it against you... or worse. And for years, nobody knew my real reason for giving Silva up, until I confided the whole story in Tanner a few years ago."

"Then there's no reason you should blame yourself for all of it. You chose love for your son over keeping an agent who was becoming too dangerous for his own good; it was a sacrifice you had to make."

"But don't you see? Silva thought I betrayed him, and in a way, I did."

"Silva also had serious mother issues, M, and you know it. He probably couldn't stand the fact that you favored your blood son, whom you gave birth to and raised, over him, the orphan you took under your wing. Yes, knowing him, he probably did find out that Brendan was really your son. That's why he sought you out for revenge, because you were the mother who abandoned him. _And you are not to blame for it. _Silva made himself into the monster he was, not you. You have to believe that in your heart in order to forgive yourself."

M's sapphire eyes held the gaze of Bond's lazuline ones as she gave him a bittersweet smile. "You're not asking an easy task of me, James. I can't even forgive myself for getting you shot."

Instinctively, Bond's hand went to his lower abdomen, where Moneypenny's bullet had struck him. A scar remained from the wound, sealed in by the salt water, but then again, his body was pockmarked with scars from years of fieldwork. The work of Le Chiffre's hands, of Dominic Greene's, and of Silva's, not M's. He never once blamed her for putting him in mortal danger; he willingly chose to face it and spit in its face. "I forgave you a long time ago, because you were there for me afterward, just like you always have been. Right now, I need you to forgive yourself, because it bloody near kills me to hear you cry. M, I know I've been a thorn in your side sometimes, and I'm so sorry for all the times I've hurt you. It's not just enough to be your man anymore. I want to be a _good_ man for you." He pressed a gentle kiss to M's forehead. "I love you."

M couldn't even say _I love you, too _as the tears flowed anew – but this time, they were on their way to becoming tears of joy. Bond had restored her faith, so completely that she felt in her heart that someday, she would forgive herself for the sins of her past. Right now, all she wanted was to be close to Bond, to feel his arms surrounding her and holding her close. "James?"

"Hmm?"

"Will you stay with me tonight?" When Bond pulled away slightly with a stunned expression on his face, M quickly added, "Just hold me, James. That's all I want; to know that you're here. Stay close to me, please."

Touched to his very soul, Bond reached up and stroked M's hair, threading the soft silver locks through his fingers. "Of course I will." After tucking M safely beneath the blankets, Bond pulled the duvet over himself and wrapped his arms snugly around her, feeling the warmth of her body next to his. It amazed him. It was the most intimate, beautiful moment he'd ever shared with a woman – just having M near sent a greater emotional tremor through him than any one-night stand ever did. Their lips meeting in a goodnight kiss, Bond and M fell asleep in each other's arms, love conquering fears and sorrow and washing away the tears.

* * *

I know this chapter had a lot more emotional meat than previous ones, but I really wanted to delve into M's past and tie up some loose ends from _Skyfall. _And a quick note on the end scene - it was really important to me to have Bond holding M close to him while he slept, because after all those meaningless, hollow encounters with women before, I think it would really touch him to realize that just being close to someone and holding them near your heart can be much more intimate than anything else. Next time, I'll have a special chapter in honor of Valentine's Day, and until then, please keep the reviews coming!


	7. Valentine

Just in time for Valentine's Day, here's a special chapter with Bond and M celebrating the holiday! Everything kicks off with a game of Truth or Dare and segues into the makings of a Valentine's Day celebration... with a special surprise for M from Bond. Enjoy, and Happy Valentine's Day to everyone!

* * *

"Can he actually do this?"

"Of course he can. He was a master at this when I was a boy. I used to beg him to do it every time we ate ice cream."

While February snowflakes tripped the light fantastic on their way to earth, the ambiance within Avalon was warm and, at the moment, jolly, for Bond, M, and Kincade were amusing themselves with a game of Truth or Dare – with many a laugh ringing through the house at the antics performed and stories told. Already, M had confessed her most embarrassing teenage memory (diving under a wave at the seashore only to emerge with her swimsuit top wrapped around her neck) and Bond had gotten down on his knees, removed M's shoes, and kissed both of her feet, as per Kincade's wicked dare.

"Be grateful you didn't have to do this in my office at MI6," M chortled, blushing a brilliant fuchsia while Kincade roared with laughter.

"M, my dear, just say the word, and I'll bend over backwards and kiss your feet any time you like," Bond said once he stood back up. "Good thing you've got such sweet toes."

At the present, however, the cheerful couple was sitting on the sofa watching Kincade, who appeared to be doing nothing at first glance, until one noticed the movement of his tongue against the wall of his cheek. A minute or two passed before he grunted "Mmm-hmm," reached into his mouth, and pulled out a small red something, which he passed to Bond for inspection. Bond took it between two fingertips, scrutinized it for a heartbeat, and then looked up at Kincade and smiled. "It's a sailor's knot, just like the old days!" He held it out for everyone to see, and sure enough, it was a cherry stem tied into a perfect sailor's knot.

Kincade modestly bowed his head while Bond and M clapped and cheered. "It's nothing; just a trick I learned from me old schoolmates. We did it purely to impress the ladies back then, but I didn't do it for years until after James was born. The first time I did it for him, he was four years old. You would have thought it was the eighth wonder of the world, the way he was laughing and clapping his hands."

M laughed and reached for her cup of hot chocolate. "He must have been an adorable little boy," she said, sneaking a fond glance at Bond, who was likewise sipping his own cocoa.

"He was a little stinker is what he was, Emma," Kincade replied. "Every time his parents and I turned around, he was in some kind of scrape. When he was four, he slid down the banister at Skyfall and fell off and knocked out his top two front teeth; at seven, he shinnied up one of the tallest oak trees here and fell out; thank God his mother was there to catch him. And when he was ten, he burned the garden shed down when he made his first Molotov cocktail."

Despite the fact that she was shaking with laughter, M turned to Bond and said, "You made a Molotov cocktail when you were ten? How?"

"I'm partially to blame," Kincade spoke up, looking first from a chortling M to a discomfited Bond, the back of whose neck was bright red. "I'd been reading him a book about the Second World War and it described how Molotov cocktails were made and used in some of the skirmishes. The next thing I knew, he was outside and the shed had gone up like Mount Vesuvius. From what I could get out of him, he'd nicked a bottle of his father's best scotch, soaked a rag with some of it and then stuffed it into the bottle, and lit it on fire. Of course, he was hiding in the shed and he didn't have anything to put it out with, so he ran outside and let the blasted bottle explode. I don't know what his father was angrier about – the shed or the scotch."

"The scotch," Bond muttered, his face buried in his hands. "The shed we rebuilt, but Dad always said there was nothing worse than a bloody waste of good scotch."

"I'm with your father on that one," M said. "Now, whose turn is it?"

"Yours," Bond said as Kincade sat down. "Truth or dare?"

"Well, I said truth last time, so… dare."

"All right…" Bond took a moment to think. They'd had enough embarrassment for one evening. It was time for something nice – but something daring by M's standards, something Bond had only ever heard her do once before. "M, I dare you to sing."

M's eyes popped and she did a double take at Bond's dare. "Sing? What on earth made you think of that?"

"The office Christmas party two years ago, when you sang 'Merry Christmas, Darling' for the agents who were overseas. You have a beautiful voice, M; why can't you sing for us now?"

"James, I haven't sung a note since then. I don't know if my voice is up to it."

"I dared you. You have to do it; no reneging on the rules."

M sighed and shook her head. He was right, of course, and she was a woman of honor, whether the games at hand were of levity or of war. "Do either of you have a request?"

Kincade gave Bond a smile. "What about the lullaby your mother used to sing to you when you were just a bairn in her arms?"

"I was just thinking about that myself," Bond said, giving Kincade a gentle cuff on the arm. "How about 'Somewhere Over The Rainbow'?"

M's face dimpled in a smile. "Your mother sang that to you? I used to sing it to my own children when they were babies. No small wonder _The Wizard Of Oz _was their favorite film."

Bond nodded in a prompt. "So? Will you sing it?" he asked, his lips curved into that teasing grin M knew so well.

"Only for you, cheeky devil," M teased. She rose from the sofa and stood before Bond and Kincade, clearing her throat and humming a little to find the right key. Once she found her perfect pitch, M let Dorothy Gale's wistful song pour forth in her warm contralto.

Bond closed his eyes and allowed himself to be carried away by the old, beloved lullaby. Even though he was a grown man, the memory of his mother singing the song to him was still cherished in his heart. He remembered the warmth of her body and her arms holding him snugly against her heart, the rich floral smell of her Chanel No. 5, the light catching her titian hair and her stunning azure eyes – the eyes he'd inherited – sparkling with love and joy. He could still feel the cool silk of her favorite lavender gown and see the glitter of her purple sapphire brooch, yet another piece from her unconventional jewelry collection. Now, another woman was singing the song to him; a woman he loved more than anything or anyone else on Earth… or over the rainbow, for that matter. It often amazed him when he thought about the two most important women in his life and how different they both were. His mother, Monique Delacroix Bond – old-Hollywood glamorous; tall, slender, and blonde. His boss, friend, and true love, Lady Barbara Mawdsley – fine-wine elegant; small, curvy, and silver-haired. Yet they both loved two things: a beautiful old song that spoke of a yearning for a better world, and a fallen angel of a man: himself.

The song ended and Bond and Kincade burst into applause, both the men calling "Bravo! Bravo!" while M blushed and bowed her head modestly. "Please, please, you two. You're lucky I didn't croak like a frog; I sound like I have a permanent case of laryngitis anyway."

"No, you don't," Bond rebuked her gently as she sat back down next to him. "Like I said before, you have a beautiful voice, both singing and speaking. It has a sexy quality I love."

"Well then, perhaps I should leave you two alone," M teased, laying her hands on Bond's shoulders before leaning in to kiss him.

Kincade rolled his eyes in spite of his smile. "Take it easy, you two. Save something for Saint Valentine's Day."

M suddenly broke the kiss and pulled away to look up at Bond. "My goodness, I forgot that Valentine's Day was this weekend! I haven't even gotten you a card yet!"

"That makes two of us, so don't feel so terrible," Bond replied with a sheepish look. "Tell you what; why don't the three of us head into town tomorrow and go shopping. We'll split up, you and Kincade and then me by myself; that way we won't spoil any surprises. Fair enough?"

"Sounds like a plan." M yawned and stretched out on the couch. "I think I'll go up to bed if that's all right."

"You don't even need to ask. Can you get up?" Bond asked, rising to his feet at the same time M was getting to hers. In the last three months, her hip had healed enough for her to walk around by herself, although she did still have a slight limp and, now and then, rising from a sedentary position gave her a sharp twinge. Nevertheless, M clearly delighted in the fact that her independence was slowly coming back to her, which showed right now as she got to her feet with no trouble at all.

"Can you kiss and tell?" M asked with a wink.

As if in answer, Bond gently gripped M's shoulders and dropped a warm kiss on her lips. "Sleep well, my funny Valentine. We've got a big day ahead of us."

* * *

When Valentine's Day dawned four days later, M awoke to find a world of windswept white, winter sunshine streaming through the window and sparkling on the snow outside, and a _dress at the foot of her bed? _M sat up in bed and pulled the beautiful garment into her lap, sucking in a breath at the shimmering folds of red silk. There was no note attached to it, but she knew exactly who had left it. _James, you cheeky boy. What do you want me to wear this for... hello, what's this?_

On the night table beside the bed, there was a plate of chocolate-covered strawberries – M's favorite fruit – and a note. Seizing both, M gleefully bit into a strawberry, savoring its sweetness while she read the note from Bond.

_My darling Barbara,_

_It would give me great pleasure if the chief of MI6 would honor her double-0 by joining him for dinner tonight. Don't worry; we won't be going out on the town – I know how much you hate being put on display. If you'll join me downstairs in the dining room tonight at 6:00, we'll have everything we need – candlelight, music, and a romantic dinner for two. In the meantime, take a bubble bath, pamper yourself like you've never had time to, and enjoy those strawberries I left for you. And I do hope you'll wear the dress to dinner. I have a sneaking feeling you'll look absolutely ravishing in it. Until tonight, my dear._

_Love always,  
__James_

"Until tonight, James," M whispered, kissing the note and taking another bite of her strawberry. "Until tonight."

For the rest of the day, M took Bond's words to heart and devoted her time to a long-overdue, much-deserved spa period. She did indeed take a long bubble bath, bringing her old favorite _Pride & Prejudice _with her to read, as well as her plate of strawberries. While she soaked in warm water and bubbles smelling of lavender, M let herself get lost in Austen, falling in love with the old story of Darcy and Elizabeth all over again. The tale never failed to make her believe in the power of love: how nothing, not even class or foolish pride, could stand in the way of true love. Funny now how M found herself comparing Darcy and Elizabeth's love story to that of herself and Bond. _Although I'm too past my first blush to be Elizabeth and James isn't the fool Darcy was in the beginning. Ah well, this is life. James and I have our own love story to write._

After she'd soaked away three months' worth of blood, pain, and stress, M rose from her bath and wrapped herself in her silver satin dressing gown, fully intending to do much more than merely slather cold cream all over her face. No, it was a full facial for this woman – cleansing, exfoliation, and a mask of avocado and honey, something she hadn't treated herself to in what seemed like an eternity. Following that, it was manicure time, and then… time to get dressed for dinner. After dabbing on some of her favorite perfume, M slipped the red dress on, the cool silk kissing her skin and softly hugging her body in a perfect fit. Following that, she fixed her hair and makeup, and finished her look off with a pair of simple diamond teardrop earrings and necklace. Taking one last look at herself in the mirror, M gathered the folds of her skirt and set off out of her bedroom and down the stairs, where Bond was waiting to begin their Valentine's Day dinner.

* * *

Downstairs in the dining room, Bond had everything prepared – Italian for two, champagne and candles, and an iPod loaded with songs for the evening, thanks to a quick search for Valentine's Day music on iTunes. He himself was dressed to kill (no pun intended) in his best black tie and dinner jacket. It was almost 6:00 on the dot, and all that was missing was…

"Ahem."

Bond turned around at the gentle cough and felt his heart skip a beat. He'd been lightly teasing M in his note when he said she'd look ravishing in the dress, but now he could see that his little prophecy had been fulfilled. She looked more radiant than he'd seen her look in a long time, the red silk of her dress softly accentuating her curves and the candlelight both playing with the silver of her hair and making the diamonds at her ears and throat sparkle in rainbows. Dumbstruck, he finally managed to utter one word and one word only: "Wow!"

M laughed, her cheeks dimpling and her eyes sparkling to shame her jewelry. "And here I thought you were going to fall on your knees and make some Romeo speech. I'm glad you didn't; that one word is worth a lifetime of poetry."

"I'm glad, because you rendered me speechless for a moment there," Bond said, striding forward to take M's hand and kiss it. "You look absolutely stunning."

"Thank you. You're not looking too bad yourself," M replied, taking in Bond's dinner jacket with approval.

"I clean up well when the occasion calls. Are you ready for dinner?"

"Actually, I was hoping we could dance for a while before we eat."

Bond smiled. "Your wish is my command." He stepped over to the radio and shuffled through his iPod for the right playlist. "Any requests?"

"Surprise me."

After a second, Bond hit the play button on the iPod and stepped back, taking M's hand and waist in one motion. The next minute, he froze in horror when the song that played was not one from his Valentine's Day playlist, but Elton John's "Crocodile Rock." M burst out laughing and Bond felt the nape of his neck growing hot and red; he closed his eyes, embarrassed. "I'm sorry; I must've scrolled too far and selected the wrong song!"

"Well, I said 'surprise me,' and you didn't disappoint," M hooted, her red-gowned shoulders quaking with laughter. "Leave it on, James. Suddenly, I'm in the mood to…"

"Pull shapes?" Bond asked, mischief now taking the place of humiliation.

M jerked him close and flashed him an impish smile. "You said it."

For the next three minutes, Bond and M had a splendid time doing their own version of the Crocodile Rock, cutting a rug and laughing all the while. By the time the song ended, they were both pink in the face and M spoke up, "Well, that's my exercise for the day, but my hip's crying out for a slow dance."

"Are you all right?"

"I'm fine; don't worry. Surprise me again, but if I hear 'Benny and the Jets,' I'll throttle you."

Bond laughed and went back over to the iPod, taking care not to over-scroll. This time, he found the right song and whirled M into his arms as the piano intro started.

"What's this? I've never heard this one before," M said while Bond led her in a waltz.

"I found it when I was searching iTunes this morning. It's called 'Valentine,' by an American country artist named Martina McBride. I listened to it and I knew I had to have it, because I think it describes my feelings for you, M. Listen."

They waltzed in silence while M listened to the words of the song, and she nearly teared up when she heard the second verse and chorus. The speaker was telling her true love how he had opened her eyes and showed her to love unselfishly. "You really mean it, James?"

"Of course I do," Bond said, whirling her around and taking her back into his arms. "You really have showed me what selfless love is, and how to love others unselfishly. And you will always have my heart, beyond the end of time. You're all I need, Barbara."

"My Valentine," M sang along, resting her head on Bond's chest as they continued to dance, their eyes shining and hearts full, and the candles burning a warm glow on the most romantic night of the year.

* * *

I hope this chapter gave you a case of the warm fuzzies! I wanted to go for romantic yet funny; I hope it made you laugh too! Next time, we just might get treated to another glimpse of M's past, and Bond's as well. Until then, stay tuned and keep reviewing!


	8. Take Me There

Last time, Bond and M were celebrating Valentine's Day. Now, it's a month later, and they're about to take a walk in the woods... and M is going to take Bond on a walk through her past. Inspired by "Take Me There" by Rascal Flatts.

* * *

"Gin."

"Get your own."

"Oh, deal the cards, you snarky git."

"Ouch." With a pained expression, Bond leaned backward in his chair and slapped a hand to his heart, careful not to betray his cards. "I don't think you need a gun when your tongue is weapon enough."

"Careful, James," M warned, her eyes glittering as she held up one of her winning cards. "You're playing with the Queen of Hearts here."

Bond grinned. "Does this mean it's off with my head?"

M shot him a look. "No, it's off to afternoon tea with the Mad Hatter."

"Since when do you have afternoon tea with Mallory?"

"Ten points for that one," M chuckled, while Bond gathered the cards together and shuffled the deck for another round of gin rummy. "Based on what Tanner's been telling me in his phone calls, Mallory's mad as a hatter and driving everybody else to the same state."

Bond snickered as he dealt the cards. "The March Hare's become the Queen's spy, eh?"

"James!" M exclaimed, an incredulous smile on her face. "Why do you think Tanner's the March Hare?"

"Because he rabbits on sometimes. M, don't get me wrong; Tanner is my friend, but he loves to talk."

"That he does, but at the end of the day, he's the only person I'd ever trust with my secrets, apart from you, of course. But I'm not sure if even Tanner knows who I am inside."

Bond pored over his cards for a moment, pondering M's words before he spoke again. "Well, I don't know who you are, either."

M looked up from her hand with her mouth slightly open and her blue eyes betraying both amazement and, to Bond's chagrin, hurt feelings. "James, how can you say that? You know me better than anybody else on Earth!"

"Wait, hear me out," Bond said, holding up a hand in defense. "I should have said I don't know who you _were_, what brought you to this point… what made you who you are today. I know who you are now, but I want to know who you were."

M shook her head. "You've read my file. You know all about me."

"Basics. I know that you're 63 years old, you're widowed with two children, and you served as chief of staff prior to becoming head of MI6. Other than that, you're a mystery – an even bigger mystery than me, if you can believe that for a second."

M sighed and closed her eyes. "What do you want to know?"

"Everything. Tell me the whole story." Bond suddenly smiled, the perfect blend of mischief and warmth. "What do you say, M? Will you take me there?"

M opened her eyes and shook her head again, but her expression was nothing but fond as she gazed at Bond. "All right, but only because I know if I don't tell you, you'll tickle it out of me or some such foolishness."

"Don't tempt me," Bond replied, his eyes twinkling as he drew a fresh card. "After this hand, shall we go for a walk in the woods?"

M glanced out the window. The snows of February had long since given way to the clear blue skies of March, with the promise of an early spring on the way. The trees were only just beginning to get their buds and the air still possessed a slight nip, but the birds were already coming out to chirp and the stalks of the first new daffodils were peeking through the ground. Today, the sky was clear and the sun was shining, too perfect a day to spend indoors for long. "Good idea. I need the exercise anyway."

"I'm just glad you're becoming more independent with time. I know it's been hard for you these past few months."

"It has, but I'm a tough old bird, James. I'm getting better every day, and I'm glad that I can walk on my own for the most part now. As much as I enjoyed being on your arm before, I was beginning to feel rather like an old mare being led around the pasture."

"You're no old mare, you're a thoroughbred," Bond said, drawing another card and rearranging his hand. "And I'm…"

"Done for." M slapped her cards down with a triumphant smile. "Gin!" she cried, while Bond clapped his hand to his forehead in defeat.

* * *

The sun shone down through the forest as Bond and M walked along the trails, dappling everything in light and warming their skin… and, they both noticed, catching each other's hair, making M's shine a brighter silver than usual and turning Bond's a burnished gold. Silence was not golden, however, as the two of them were deep in conversation about M's past. At Bond's behest, M started at the beginning, warning him that it was a long story. Bond replied that it was all right; they had a long trail ahead of them.

"I was born in Yorkshire in 1949, and I'm the younger of two sisters."

"I never knew you had a sister. Your file doesn't list any siblings, only your marital status and children."

"That's because my sister Maggie served in MI6, and she took on an alias to protect both her and me from harm. If somebody had discovered that we were related, it could have potentially meant kidnapping, torture, or worse just to ferret out government secrets."

Bond narrowed his eyes. "What was her alias?"

A smile flitted across M's face. "Does the name Natalie Grantham mean anything to you?"

"Not the same Natalie Grantham who killed the Soviet arms dealer Nikolai Tereshkov in 1989? Agent 009? That was your sister?"

"That was Maggie. She was the double-0 tearing around the world on secret missions for queen and country, and I constantly had my rear end parked behind a desk, bossing people about and playing devil's advocate for Michael Marsden. We were always such opposites growing up, and we never looked a bloody thing alike. I long envied her, because she was always more vibrant than I, and certainly more beautiful."

"I find that hard to believe, because you're gorgeous as it is," Bond said fondly, squeezing M's hand. "What does she look like?"

"Maggie's still a beautiful woman: she's taller and slimmer than me, with all this gorgeous, shiny red hair. We both have the same eyes, although hers are wider."

"Two blue-eyed beauties, eh?"

"Hardly. Maggie always looked like she'd stepped off the cover of _Vogue; _I was the brunette dwarf."

"You're not short, you're fun-sized," Bond teased, prompting M to playfully shove his shoulder. "And you're beautiful, as I always tell you."

"Only you think so."

"It's not just me. Kincade happens to think you're very lovely."

M grinned. "He's not jealous, is he?"

"Heavens, no. He's seeing someone, didn't you know?"

"No! When did this happen?"

"Around three weeks ago. All I know is that her name is Cath, probably short for Catherine, she's a waitress at Lachlan's Pub in the village, and she and Kincade have gotten together at the pub to have a pint or two, shoot billiards, and watch every single rugby and football match on television."

"Well, I'm very happy for him. She sounds like his type of woman."

"Kincade loves her, except for the fact that she can't play at darts to save her life. Last Tuesday, he came home with a dart sticking out of his hat like the feather in a tam." Bond paused to grin at M's burst of laughter. "So anyway, back to you. Did you and Maggie get along well as sisters?"

"Oh, yes. Not to say we didn't have our spats now and then, but we did get on remarkably well otherwise. It was a bit of a disappointment to our parents when we both joined the Service after our marriages rather than stay at home and be ladies of the manor as our titles decreed. They never could for the life of them understand why we wanted to give up a life of luxury for the grit, dirt, and blood of MI6. I can tell you why: if Maggie and I had to die shackled to anything, it was to a prisoner and the honor of Her Majesty's Secret Service, not to the rigid entail of a country baron's estate."

"Crikey. Sounds like _Downton Abbey_."

M chuckled dryly. "I'd like to see the women on that series join MI6 even for one day. They'd know the true meaning of dying for honor and tradition."

"Speaking of honor and tradition, when did you first meet Malcolm? Do you mind talking about him?" Bond asked, unsure of whether or not M wanted to talk about the man she'd shared her life with.

To his great surprise, she shook her head. "I don't mind at all. Malcolm and I first met at a local charity ball, if you can believe that. I was eighteen and he was twenty-one, and handsome as he could be – green eyes, untidy brown hair that flopped over his eyes like a stallion's forelock, crooked little smile. He was a friend of my cousin Matthew's from school, and Matthew had dragged him along to try and find him a lady friend."

"And he found you, didn't he?"

"Only after he trod on my feet during our first dance and dropped his cup of punch down my dress; I'll never forgive myself for wearing a low-cut gown that night." M shook her head fondly while Bond laughed. "Of course, he was mortified and kept apologizing to me for the rest of the night, but that's when I realized that Malcolm had something that many of the men of my rank didn't: a good heart. It wasn't until later on that he told me that the reason he was so nervous was because he didn't think that he, the son of a knight, was worthy of a baron's youngest daughter. He said he had been ready to break things off because he thought I could do better than him. Little did he know that was why I fell in love with him, because he was ready to sacrifice, to put my well-being ahead of his own needs because he loved me that much."

Bond was quiet for a heartbeat. "Sounds like he was a good man."

"He was. We got married in 1970, and Brendan was born two years later. Judy didn't come along until Brendan was four, and it was my misfortune to have already begun my tenure at MI6 when I discovered I was pregnant with her. It's not exactly a good advertisement for the Service when the incumbent M's chief of staff bolts out of a meeting to vomit her guts up in the women's loo – or to nearly kill a secretary over who gets the last available stall."

"You had to pee that badly?"

"You try sharing a body with something that squashes your internal organs for nine months and see if you're not installing a turnstile in the men's lavatory, James Bond," M retorted, stopping to place her hands on her hips. "Pregnancy isn't all sunshine and roses, you know."

"No, I don't," Bond said with some acid. "'Unmarried employee with no next of kin,' remember?"

Admonished, M lowered her eyes and then glanced back up at him with remorse. "You're right, James; I'm sorry. But as long as we're on the subject… have you ever thought about having children?"

Bond's eyes popped and he stared at M with incredulity etched onto his face. "M… no offense, but aren't you a little old to be offering?"

M burst out laughing. "James, for heaven's sake! The last I checked, my name wasn't Sarah. I mean, you're 44 years old, soon to be 45. Did you ever at some point wonder what it would be like to be a father?"

Bond grew pensive as he considered this. "Never before," he finally answered, his voice betraying shame. "After my parents died, I turned into a selfish, arrogant little prat who only looked out for himself; any woman was nothing more than a quick fling because I was too bloody afraid of sharing my life with someone else. And no woman ever served me with the truth… until I met you. Do you remember what you called me when I first joined MI6?"

M grinned. "How could I forget? 'Sexist, misogynist dinosaur.'"

"You had me pegged right from the off. At the time, I was really stung because nobody had ever called me anything like that before, and I kept trying to justify myself in my mind, but I couldn't get what you said out of my head. And by the time you promoted me to double-0 status, I realized that you were right. I had thought you said it because you hated my guts, but all of a sudden, it hit me that you said it because you wanted to make a better man out of me; show me what nobody else ever had: tough love. It worked. I'm a better man because of you, M."

M's smile grew softer. "I know, James. I realized that a year ago."

Now Bond was really surprised. "A year ago? You mean…"

"Yes. At first, I thought I was just on the rebound after Malcolm's death, but then I realized that it wasn't because I was lonely. I really did love you, but I didn't want to admit it to myself."

"Why not?"

"It was complicated. Would you like to hear the whole story?"

"Does Lady Violet Crawley like to snark? You bet I would."

M chuckled. "All right. Here goes…"

* * *

Minor cliffhanger here, but I can promise you right now that the next chapter is going to be something of a prequel, sort of filling in the gap between _Quantum of Solace _and _Skyfall. _As for the back story with M's sister, Lady Maggie, see my other story _Property Of A Lady _if you want more details about Maggie's time in the Service and her relationship wtih M, although it's another take on the events after _Skyfall. _Until next time, my darlings, keep on reviewing!


	9. Complicated

Finally, I've finished this chapter - and personally, it's one of my favorites so far. Last time, M was ready to tell Bond how she was feeling about him a year before the events at Skyfall, but her feelings were a little more complicated than one might think. Inspired by "Complicated" by Carolyn Dawn Johnson.

I want to take this opportunity to send a special shout-out and thank-you to my friends and fellow readers RebaForever15 and Prosper-the-XVIII, who have been loyal fans and supporters of this little love story from the very beginning. Ladies, thank you for your comments, reviews, helpful hints, and everything in between - and thanks for your wonderful stories and for helping to keep M alive! You're bloody awesome, both of you!

* * *

_December 14, 2011_

"What do you mean, you're not going?"

"Try to follow this time, Tanner. I'm. Not. Going. End of story."

"With all due respect, ma'am, unless you tack an 'And they all lived happily ever after' on it, it's not the end of the story."

M's eyes were like chips of ice as she glared at her chief of staff. The two of them were in the back of one of the MI6 Jaguars, M heading home after a long day at the office and Tanner playing the dual roles of both aide and bodyguard – and annoying pest, at the moment. "Don't talk to me about happily-ever-afters, Tanner. I was foolish enough once to believe they lasted forever, but they don't."

Chastened, Tanner cast his eyes downward. It might have been three years since M had lost her husband, but she was still bitter, and not only because he was gone. It was because she was alone. Not that she had ever told him, but Tanner wasn't stupid. He could see it in her eyes. It was the same sad, far-off ember that burned in his wife's eyes whenever he had to go away for an extended period of time. "I'm sorry, ma'am. Permission to speak candidly?"

"Granted, but choose your words wisely."

Typical M. Free speech with an entail. "I know you're going to hate me for saying this, but quit being such a baby! You lost your husband, and I'm sorry and I know it hurts, but think about what _he _would want for you."

"Tanner, you are walking on thin ice –" M warned before Tanner cut her off, clearly unafraid of what consequences his little speech might bring.

"M, look at yourself. Since Malcolm died, you've let yourself become a slave driver at work and a bitter old woman in your private life. He would want you to be happy. I'm not telling you to run out and find some toy boy to amuse yourself with, but I am telling you to open your heart a little. If I've offended you, I apologize, but I can't stand to see you like this. It might not always show, but I do care about you."

For a good minute, M couldn't speak, but not because she was angry with Tanner for blowing up at her. On the contrary, she was a little stunned. To think, quiet, gentle Bill Tanner had just called out the head of MI6. What next, flying pigs? "I know you do. And I'm sorry if I don't acknowledge you for it more often. But my private life is my business. I know Malcolm would want me to be happy, but… I just don't know if I'm ready to let anyone else into my heart."

In a rare move for him, Tanner reached out and patted the back of M's hand. "I understand, ma'am. But keep your eyes open. You never know when somebody might be lurking in the shadows, waiting to steal your heart away."

"Oh, do shut up."

"Fine, but only if you'll consider going to the Christmas party."

"I'll consider it, but don't expect me to fill out an RSVP anytime soon."

"Fair enough." As the car rolled to a stop in front of M's house, Tanner got out and held the door open for M; once she was out, he touched her briefly on the arm. "Good night, M."

The corners of M's mouth turned upward ever so slightly. "Good night, Tanner." Taking out her keys, M climbed the steps to the front door of her house, pondering what her ever-faithful aide had said and asking herself questions aloud – and answering them mentally.

"Am I really a bitter old woman?" _Yes. _She put her house key in the lock and turned it.

"Am I a slave driver?" _Yes. _She pushed open the door and entered the house, setting her purse down and shucking her winter coat on the way to the lounge.

"Do I deserve to be happy?"

"Yes."

At the sound of the deep male voice coming from the darkened room, M jumped as though someone had pinched her bum. Upon fully entering the lounge, she could make out the silhouette of a man reclining on the sofa, a glass of what was undoubtedly her best scotch raised to his lips. _I should have known, _she thought, unsure whether to be angry that he had broken in (yet again) or glad that he was there. Going for an emotional compromise, she allowed herself to feel the latter, yet throw the former into her voice. "How did you get in here?"

"I came down the chimney," was the drawling, dry reply. "Ho-ho-ho."

"And a bottle of scotch, I see."

"I'm a double-0, not a pirate."

"And here I thought you were Father Christmas." M reached for the nearby light switch and flicked it, bathing the room in light. Sure enough, there was James Bond, his long legs propped up on her coffee table and his mouth curved into a teasing smile. "Did anyone ever tell you that breaking and entering is illegal?"

"Apparently nobody's told Father Christmas, so there you go," Bond retorted, swirling his scotch in its glass. "There are exceptions to every rule."

"And if there aren't?" M asked, allowing a little menace to seep into her voice.

"You make them up. Some rules are meant to be broken."

M glowered at him. "Really? Can you say the same for hearts?" she asked quietly as she sat down on the opposite end of the couch.

Without being asked, Bond reached for the decanter of scotch and poured three fingers into a glass he'd already laid out, in anticipation of her arrival. M had to give him credit; at least he'd thought of her. "You of all people ought to know the answer to that one," he said, handing her the glass.

M accepted the tumbler and threw back half the scotch in one gulp. "You're not kidding." She sighed. "We've both known more than our share of heartbreak, haven't we?"

"Yeah." Bond turned his eyes to M with the ghost of a smile hovering about his mouth. "We make a pretty good couple, don't we?"

M nearly spat out her next swig of scotch. "Would you care to repeat that, 007?"

"M, calm down. I mean, we've been through so much together over the years and, as you said, we've both known more than our fair share of heartbreak that it sort of feels like we're a couple. An odd couple, but a couple nonetheless. And let's face it, we bicker like we've been married for years."

"That I won't argue with." M chuckled at Bond's reasoning, but something deep inside of her had been stirred when he said they made a pretty good couple. _Dear Lord, he's right. There have been times I've felt like I'm married to him when we've argued. Imagine it; me married to James Bond. Married to a man who's wild, unpredictable, blunt, dangerous… strong, passionate, protective, wonderful… oh, Barbara, stop it! He's your agent; you are his boss, and nearly 20 years his senior, for goodness' sake! Just because you're lonely is no reason for you to be acting like some silly schoolgirl. He'd never be interested in you, no matter how much you love… _M stopped herself mentally at that instant, shocked at the thought that had just drifted through her mind. _Love him. No… no, it can't be. It's insane! I can't be in love with James Bond!_

"M?"

"I'm not!" M suddenly blurted out, before she realized what she was saying. Her train of thought derailing, she glanced up at a now confused Bond and felt her face burning with embarrassment. Good grief, she'd come close to mentioning…

"You're not what?" Bond asked, his brows drawn together in a quizzical frown.

"Uh…" M rarely found herself at a loss for words. Lady Barbara Mawdsley, on the other hand, was suddenly speechless. What in the world could she possibly say to answer his question? No way was she going to even board her previous thought train again, absurd as it was. Quickly, she cast around in her mind for an answer that would satisfy him, and fortunately, she found one that was both convenient and truthful. "I'm not going to the office Christmas party next week."

Bond raised an eyebrow slightly at that. "Why not? You go every year."

"Not this year. For the last two years, I've gone unescorted and it's felt like the bloody Yule Ball in _Harry Potter _trying to dance with young agents and aides who can't tell their left foot from their right."

"You could have asked me, you know."

Now it was M's turn to arch a brow. "What, to escort me or to dance with me?" Furiously, she felt herself boarding that train of thought again.

"Either one. I always come unaccompanied, haven't you ever noticed?"

Funnily enough, M had. "Of course, but I always assumed it was because you liked to work the room. Share the wealth, if I may be so bold."

Bond shook his head. "Little-known fact: that's purely for show and to get more than a few unwanted admirers off my back for the rest of the evening. I've never found the right partner to ask, but if I'd known that you wanted an escort, I would've jumped at the chance."

"You would have?" M's heart did a little jump of its own.

"Of course. It's the highest honor to escort the head of MI6 to any gala or function." M was on the verge of looking away when Bond spoke again, keeping her attention for a while longer. "But I don't care about that. Seeing you alone at the last two parties, putting on a happy face for everyone and pretending to enjoy yourself, when all the time, I could see pain in your eyes… believe it or not, it broke my heart."

"Your heart was broken over _me_?"

"I know it might not always show, but I can't stand to see you hurt. And forgive me for going sentimental here, but right now, I think you need to hear this." Bond reached out and took M's hands in his and looked into her eyes; M fought a shiver at his touch. Since when did she turn into a quivering mass of jelly when James Bond touched her? "I care about you, M, more than you know. And this might be a bit rich coming from the sexist, misogynist dinosaur, but you're the most important woman in my life. I just want you to be happy. And besides, nobody should be alone at Christmas. So what do you say? Will you let me escort you to the Christmas party this year and give me the honor of the first dance?"

_Oh, James… _Like the sentimental idiot she felt herself turning into, M let a smile steal across her face. She'd known that Bond had a soft side, but he rarely showed it to anyone… just her. The same man who could kill with a gun, a single word, and a look of his eye had just healed the heartache she'd let consume her for the past three years. What had Tanner said earlier? Malcolm would want her to be happy. Bond had just said that he wanted the same thing for her. And right now, he had done just that, and clearly, her smile had returned the favor, for he was grinning like a child on Christmas morning. _Early Christmas present for you, James? _"You cheeky beggar. Yes."

Bond's grin widened, pulling laughter lines around his eyes that were surprisingly attractive, M noticed… _stop it, stop it, stop it! Good grief, if you keep acting like this, you'll never be able to keep your countenance at the party. _"Great! I'll pick you up at 6:00 on the 23rd."

"In that flashy Aston Martin of yours?"

On his way out the door, Bond stopped and grinned over his shoulder. "I like making an entrance."

"That is an understatement," M called after a laughing Bond as he took his leave.

* * *

_December 23, 2011_

"Ladies and gentlemen, if you'll all gather 'round, it's time for the first dance of the party. Starting us off is our esteemed chief, M, escorted by Commander James Bond."

The crowd applauded politely as the couples took their positions out on the dance floor. Bond clasped M's right hand in his left and smiled down at her; M gave silent thanks that she was wearing high heels, otherwise, dancing with his nearly six-foot self would have been a challenge indeed. "You look lovely tonight."

Despite her best attempts, M blushed at his compliment. She was wearing a silver silk gown that shimmered and flowed like water and her short pixie cut was playfully teased, but she hardly thought herself lovely. "You've told me that already, when you first came to pick me up."

"I thought it bore repeating." Those smile lines appeared yet again around Bond's eyes as the song – the old favorite "Last Christmas" – began, and the couples whirled into the first waltz of the night.

All while they were dancing, M couldn't help noticing more and more things about Bond, just adding to her list of complicated emotions. He really did look handsome, and devilishly handsome at that. He normally kept his blond hair cropped short, but it had grown out a little recently, so that the ends at the nape of his neck were beginning to curl. And his eyes… when had M seen eyes like that? Blue, but the most extraordinary shade of blue, like the sky, the sea, and sapphires all rolled into one. _Beautiful… bog off! _she scolded herself internally, terrified that her normally stoic mask was cracking. Fortunately, Bond didn't appear to notice anything, nor was he making some snarky comment.

What on God's green earth was happening to her? She and Bond used to share a few laughs and zingers as was normal between a boss and an agent, and they had even exchanged a few touches on the arm, back, or shoulder now and then. Nothing had ever sparked, but then again, that was back before Malcolm died, when Bond was still a freshly-promoted double-0. They were good friends, certainly, but now… it was like M couldn't keep her mind off of Bond. And what if he felt the same? What if the dreaded question was raised? What should she do then? Keep on asking herself if her feelings were nothing more than a lonely woman's response to the first kindness and warmth a man had shown her since her husband's death? It was all so complicated, just like their present situation. _Just shut up and dance, Barbara. Deal with your muddled love life later._

M was on the point of complimenting Bond on his dancing skills when she realized that he was humming along to the song. "Bond, are you actually humming?"

"Can't help it. I've always liked this song. Matter of fact, I identify with it."

"How so?"

"It makes me think of Vesper."

Something hot and defensive pulsed through M at the mention of the woman who had betrayed and broken Bond. "Why?" she asked, chastising herself when she realized that the feeling was jealousy.

"Because at one time, I thought I was ready to give her my heart, but she broke it when she betrayed me. So she did sort of give my heart away. Gave it to Quantum."

As they danced, M felt the jealousy give way to sympathy when she saw that there was no trace of love in his eyes when he spoke of Vesper – only pain and anger. He really had lived the chorus of the song."That's why you don't give your heart away to anyone, isn't it? You're afraid it'll be given away in exchange for something or someone else."

Bond offered her a sad smile. "Pretty much. Does that complete the puzzle of the screwed-up man I am?"

"Not even close. There's still a piece missing."

"Really? What piece is that?"

M prayed that she wasn't sounding too hopeful. "Someone special."

Bond laughed. "I could always give my heart to you," he said, a joking lilt in his voice. "You're a special woman."

M shook her head. "Bond, I'm nothing special, and you know it. People only respect me because I'm the boss. Nobody ever treats me like royalty."

"That's because you hate being kowtowed to and having your ego massaged," Bond remarked. "The only ones who do lick your shoes are the aides from Intelligence and Security, the ones you so lovingly call sniveling, sycophantic little toads. You dish out tough love, and you love it when people dish it right back at you – which is why you love arguing with me so much."

"007, how dare you!" M said, though she couldn't fight a laugh. "I do not!"

Bond's azure eyes were twinkling. "Do too."

"I do not!"

"Do too!"

"Shut up and dance!"

Bond nodded and whirled her around a couple of times, although his eyes said _do too _plainer than words. For the last leg of the dance, M pondered Bond's comments to herself. _I could always give my heart to you. You're a special woman. _He'd been lightly joking, but was there even a chance that he felt the same way she did? _He called you special, and he wasn't joking about that, _said a little voice in her brain. _He said it himself, you're the most important woman in his life, so clearly, you are special to him. And whether or not you care to admit it, he's special to you._

Too soon, the dance ended, and Bond and M had to make the customary bow and curtsy to each other as expected, but Bond added a little touch of his own. He raised M's hand to his lips and kissed the back of it, his eyes never leaving hers for a second. "Thank you, M. For everything."

Those two little words held more connotation for M than if he had made some lengthy speech. "You're welcome, Bond. And thank _you._"

With a nod and a smile, Bond was gone, off to "work the room," as M had said last week. She watched him go with mixed feelings – happy that they had shared such an intimate moment as a dance, yet sad that they would probably never have another moment like that again. After tonight, they would resume their normal duties as boss and agent, snarking at each other and carrying on professionally as before… but the feeling would always be there for M.

"A shilling for your thoughts, ma'am?"

Jumping at the sudden voice behind her, M whirled around to see Bill Tanner approaching, looking quite dapper in his black dinner jacket; his wife Colleen, she noticed, was now dancing with Bond. "You'd better go out there and rescue Colleen, Tanner; Bond has her in his clutches."

Taking a position beside M, Tanner merely chuckled. "I wouldn't worry about that. Colleen will flay him alive if he so much as winks an eye, and besides, I think he only has eyes for one woman in this room, as incredible as that sounds."

Oh, for the love of Mike, _Tanner _saw? "What? Who?" M asked, feigning innocence as best as she could, although she was privately dreading Tanner's reply.

"Isn't it obvious, M? It's you."

"Me? Tanner, you're crazy!"

Irritatingly, Tanner began to laugh. "Crazy like a fox. See for yourself if you don't believe me!"

Against her better judgment, M looked out at the waltzing couples on the dance floor and sure enough, as Bond and Colleen passed by, he looked up over her head and gave M a smile. "Oh, Tanner, that doesn't mean anything," she said, trying to dismiss it. "He's a notorious flirt; you know that as well as everybody does."

Tanner just laughed again. _What, can he see right through me? _Apparently so, for his next words answered her question. "Bond's stolen your heart, hasn't he?"

_All right, that's it. Time for the big gun. _Pulling out her famous, water-freezing death glare, M shot it straight at Tanner, effectively shutting him up… but curse him, he was right. _If only you could give me your heart, James, because you've stolen mine._

* * *

"And that's the story," M finished, returning to the present day and the walk in the Avalon woods. "Whether or not it'll have a happily-ever-after is up to us."

"So you do believe in happily-ever-afters after all," Bond said, stopping to pluck a wild rose from a nearby tree.

"Well, I had a little help," M said with a smile, accepting the rose when Bond offered it to her. "Of course, the months after the party weren't always fun, keeping my feelings in check every time you walked into my office."

"You're not kidding. I remember one time when I said the wrong thing and you nearly had me shot for it. I was amazed you let me off scot-free."

Knowing exactly what he was talking about, M's smile suddenly became devious. "That's what you think."

Bond stopped in his tracks. "You mean you didn't?"

"Of course not. I wouldn't be a very good boss if I didn't get some form of revenge. Do you remember a certain ad in the personals last spring?"

Bond's mouth fell open. "That was _you_?"

M laughed. "Calm down, James. I'll tell you the whole story, but don't expect me to start with 'Once upon a time, there was a single white female.'"


	10. Single White Female

This chapter is the longest yet, but it's got some funny stuff in it, including a practical joke pulled on Bond! In this chapter, we're introduced to Eve Moneypenny and we learn how she and M became good friends - and co-conspirators, and Tanner plays a big role in this chapter as well. Set to "Single White Female" by Chely Wright. My thanks goes out to RebaForever15 for her help in picking the right British newspaper for the chapter - I hope you like it, hon!

* * *

_March 26, 2012_

"Tanner. Tanner. TANNER!"

Bill Tanner jumped three feet in the air as his boss's voice cracked like a whip through the otherwise empty office. Spinning around and knocking backwards into the desk as he went, he found himself staring into the icy blue eyes of M, who had a face like thunder – which was fitting, considering that she was dripping wet with rain. With a sheepish grin, he pulled his earbuds out of his ears and offered a nervous laugh, which only darkened M's stormy countenance. "Morning, ma'am. I didn't hear you come in."

"Well, _that _is fairly obvious," M snapped, glaring at the iPod peeking out of Tanner's trouser pocket. "What the devil were you listening to?"

Tanner shrugged awkwardly. "Nothing. Just a favorite playlist of mine."

Without a reply, M held out her hand for the iPod. Tanner hesitated for a moment. He didn't want to hand his iPod over to her, but he really didn't want to risk having his bum thrown out the window into the Thames, either. So without complaint, he withdrew the gadget from his pocket and laid it in M's hand; she peered at the screen, which still displayed the song he had been listening – and dancing – to. "'Tainted Love'? You're listening to 80's music?"

"So?" When M's eyes darted back up to his in a warning glare, Tanner quickly added, "Just reliving my childhood, ma'am."

M scrolled through the playlist on the iPod, shaking her head the whole while. "Soft Cell, Rick Astley, Tears For Fears, a-Ha, the Human League, Eurythmics… for Pete's sake, this sounds like my son's record collection when he was a teenager. He nearly drove me insane listening to all of this, and all I could ever think was 'And to think they call this music.'"

"Hey! Contrary to popular belief, not all of our 80's music and technopop was cheesy."

M shot him a _yeah-right _look. "I've got two words for you, Tanner: _Duran Duran_," she retorted, tossing the iPod back to him.

Tucking the thing back into his pocket, Tanner looked M over from head to foot as she shucked her coat. Her claret-colored suit mercifully hadn't been soaked, but her hair was as wet as if she had swum the English Channel. "Why are you so sopping?"

M slapped her hands down at her sides and glowered at Tanner from the opposite side of her desk. "I was on my way to work and decided I'd like to go skinny-dipping in the fountains in Trafalgar Square," she said, dripping sarcasm. "It's a rainy day in London, Tanner; you do the math."

"Sorry, ma'am."

"Don't apologize, unless you started that rain with those 80's gyrations of yours. No offense, but you have no rhythm."

Despite M's bad mood, Tanner had to laugh at that one. "A lot of people would say I have no rhythm for two reasons. I'm white and British; that's a double whammy."

A smile flitted across M's face for the briefest of seconds. "Speaking of a double whammy, I could use one myself," she remarked, turning to her cache of scotch and bourbon. "Would you like a drink, Tanner?"

Politely, Tanner held up a hand to excuse himself. "No thanks, ma'am. I'm in charge of rallying candidates for the quartermaster's position, so I'd rather be sober when I do it."

M nodded. "Any prospects?"

"A few, based on what I've read in their files. There's one young chap who looks pretty promising. With your permission, I'd like to hire him on trial for a while, to see how well he takes to the role of quartermaster."

"What's his name?"

"Alistair Quinn."

"Well, he's certainly got a Q name; that's helpful. You have my permission to show him the ropes – all the bells and whistles of Q Branch, but after you're through, send him up here. I want to meet him personally before I place him in charge of Britain's most dangerous inventions."

Tanner nodded. "Anything else?"

After putting a few ice cubes in her tumbler of scotch, M checked her watch. "No, I've got a meeting in half an hour. I'd like to spend that time making myself presentable, like the head of the most powerful government agency in the UK and not like the wreck of the _Hesperus._"

Tanner nodded again and was about to take his leave when M called for him. "Tanner?" Turning around to face her, he noticed that the frost in her eyes had melted ever so slightly. "Good luck," she said, one corner of her mouth raised in a half-smile.

Tanner flashed her a grin back. Come rain or come shine, at the end of the day, he and M were always on good terms. "Ma'am," he said before slipping out the door and closing it behind him. M shook her head fondly and set about fixing herself up for her meeting.

Half an hour later, M was seated at her desk signing the latest documents from the Prime Minister, no longer soaked to the skin. Her hair was dry at last, but that had been the biggest part of it. With her pixie cut, all she had to do was run her fingers through it to style it, making it look like a playful bedhead do. Makeup freshened and a pen in her right hand, M looked every inch the authority figure she was, prepared to meet her newest employee… who was probably the one knocking on the door. "Come in."

The second the door opened, M set her pen and papers aside and linked her hands together on her desk. "Have a seat."

As the young woman sat down in the chair before her, M managed to get a good look at her. She was tall and fit, with large brown eyes and skin to match, certainly attractive enough to catch the eyes of quite a few male agents, but M wasn't concerned about her looks. Recruiting agents for MI6 wasn't a bloody beauty contest – it was all about strength, determination, intelligence, courage, and above all, knowing who to trust. But that dreaded question would have to wait until the end of the interview. Right now, all M really wanted to know was her new agent's name. "What's your name?"

The young woman never broke eye contact with her for a millisecond and spoke with confidence, something M liked – normally, most new recruits were quivering masses of jelly upon meeting her for the first time. "Moneypenny. Eve Moneypenny."

"Well, first of all, Miss Moneypenny, welcome to MI6," M said, extending a hand for Moneypenny to shake, which she did, the girl's firm grip leaving a good impression. "Second of all, do you realize why you're here?"

"Of course," Moneypenny replied with a twinkle in her brown eyes. "Getting dressed down by the boss is an integral part of hazing the new girl, isn't it?"

M had to bark a laugh at that one. This girl had guts to speak to her like that, which really impressed her – nobody else was brave or audacious enough to sass the boss, other than James Bond himself. "Congratulations, you've just passed your first test: how to formally insult the boss. Full marks for gall, Moneypenny," she said, to which Moneypenny grinned. "But in all seriousness, do you really know why you're here?"

"You want to speak to me about my responsibilities before I go out into the field for the first time. And you probably also want to know if I know who to trust."

M blinked, but was careful not to let Moneypenny see her surprise. This young woman was sharp; never before had an agent cut to the chase about the trust issue. Clearly, she was going to be an asset one way or another. "Yes, I do. I'm going to ask you two questions, Moneypenny, and I want you to be honest. Don't lie to me, because I'll know." When Moneypenny nodded coolly, M posed her first crucial question. "You're now an employee of the British Secret Service, and that comes with danger, intrigue, betrayal, the whole package. Who do you trust?"

Moneypenny leaned forward and locked eyes with M. "No one."

Impressed yet again, M raised her chin and gazed at Moneypenny in approval. "Exactly. See that you remember that. Now for the second question: Can I trust you?"

"How?"

"Right answer, and I'll tell you how. When it comes to government secrets that can affect the safety of the United Kingdom and the entire world, it's always a given that an agent will say yes. But in matters of emotional complications, of… personal feelings or proclivities, that's another story. Human nature craves revenge when a friend or loved one is killed, but it's our duty to stay emotionally detached when such an event occurs. Harsh reality, but it's the truth. So what do you say, Moneypenny? Can I trust you?"

Before Moneypenny could answer, the door opened and Tanner poked his head in. "I'm sorry to interrupt, ma'am, but I just wanted to tell you that the members of Q Branch are throwing a farewell breakfast party for Caroline Ainsley in the conference hall. She goes on maternity leave tomorrow, so they all wanted to give her a good sendoff."

"Thank you, Tanner. I'll be there shortly." As soon as Tanner had backed out of the room, M refocused her gaze on Moneypenny and said "Well?"

"Yes, you can trust me. It's not in my nature to get involved with a co-worker, especially a certain double-0 I've heard so much about."

"Good. See that you keep your distance," M warned, although whether it was out of duty or jealousy stemming from her feelings for Bond, she didn't know. "In the meantime, would you like to join me for breakfast?"

Moneypenny smiled. "I'd be honored, ma'am."

For the first time since the meeting began, M returned her smile and rose from her desk. "Splendid. Let's go."

* * *

One floor up in the huge conference hall, a breakfast buffet had been laid out in honor of Q Branch technician Caroline Ainsley, who was eight-and-a-half months pregnant and preparing to depart from MI6 on temporary maternity leave. Agents and techies alike were milling about the room, gathering food onto their plates and wishing Ainsley all the best for her, her husband, and her baby, naturally prompting a dozen jokes about her big belly, which all but turned her white lab coat into a tent. After greeting Ainsley with a kiss on the cheek and wishing her luck, M was now in the buffet line choosing her favorites from the assortment of food crowding the table. Bacon, sausage, eggs, tomatoes, fried bread, and fruit were only a few of the selections available, but M chose a little of everything and moved on in the line, picking up a banana and an apple as she went.

"I would've thought as head of MI6, you'd have enough fruit on your plate as it is," someone whispered in her ear.

M turned around to find Bond next to her in the line, his own plate loaded with a full English grill. "Why, Bond? Because I'm akin to the warden of the loony bin? Dealing with you, sometimes I feel like it."

"At least you never forget to give us our meds," Bond said, his bright blue eyes twinkling as he selected an apple for himself and took a bite out of it. "An apple a day keeps the doctor away."

"And an agent, if it's thrown hard enough," M said with a wry smile before she made her way over to the table Moneypenny had claimed. The young woman was already crunching on an apple of her own and reading through the daily _Telegraph_, one of few newspapers M subscribed to. "Brushing up on your politics, Moneypenny?"

Moneypenny chuckled. "No, something seamier than that: the personal ads."

"_What_?" M said in disbelief. "You're actually going through the personals?"

Moneypenny burst out laughing. "Relax, ma'am. I'm single, but I'm not looking, and even if I were, I've got better sense than to choose my dates from an ad boasting of a single white male with a face carved by the hand of God."

As if on cue, Bond was there in a flash. "Talking about me, are you?"

"You wish, 007. But as long as you're here, you may as well sit down," M said, waving a hand at the next chair at the table.

"Thank you, M," Bond said, taking his directed seat. As he did, he took notice of Moneypenny. "I don't believe I've had the pleasure of meeting you. What's your name?"

Moneypenny exchanged a furtive look with M before extending a hand to Bond. "Eve. That's all you need to know right now."

Bond shook her hand with a smile. "Mysterious. I like women like that," he said, sneaking an appreciative glance at M, who had to fight a blush. "What are you reading there, Miss Eve?"

Rather than tell him outright, Moneypenny grinned and handed the newspaper over to Bond. "See for yourself."

Bond shook out the paper to straighten the creases and laughed at what he saw. "Ah, the lonely hearts columns. Looking for love, are you?"

"In all the wrong places. No, I look at those purely to have a laugh at some of the more ridiculous ones."

"There's a coincidence, so do I. It's good morning entertainment over a cup of coffee," Bond said, raising his own coffee cup to his lips. "Listen to this one: 'Google-search this: 'Inherited wealth real estate Bentley' - that's me, result 63 of 275. It'll take 0.21 seconds to find me online, but an eternity of heartache in real life. Save time now by writing to box no. 4511, or by just giving up. Mother says you'll never be good enough for me anyway. And you carry the odor of your class.'"

Moneypenny snickered and M's cobalt eyes glittered as she sipped her own coffee. Encouraged by their responses, Bond read another one. "'All I need is the air that I breathe and to love you. And a five-door saloon (fully air-con). And minimum income of £55K per annum. And two holidays a year (Latin America plus one other of my choosing). If you can meet these requirements, apply to 'Evil Dragon Lady, Breaker of Men's Constitutions.' Well, there's nothing wrong with that one save for the fact that she stole M's title."

Moneypenny burst out laughing, while M's eyebrows knitted together in a nasty glare. Ignoring her sour expression, Bond continued on with the personals. "'God appeared to me in a dream last night and spoke your name in my ear. He gave me the winning lottery numbers, too, though, so you can understand where my priorities lay when I raced to grab a notebook and pen. Man, 37, living on hope and the next seven weeks' bonus balls seeks woman whose first name begins with S, or maybe F, and rhymes with chicken, and has a surname that's either a place in Shropshire or the title of a 1979 Earth, Wind and Fire track. Shicken Boogiewonderland, I know you're reading this.'"

By this time Moneypenny was laughing so hard her face was buried in her arms on the table and tears were streaming down her cheeks; even M's withering glare cleared with a smile and she laughed aloud, too, more at Bond's droll expression while reading the ludicrous ads to them. The good mood would not last very long, however.

"'When not in my London city office overseeing the day-to-day business of my successful accountancy firm, I can be found leaning inside taxi cabs, spitting wild obscenities and challenging the drivers to fisticuffs. We take the direct route home, we don't stop at Belisha beacons and we never - and I mean never - leave the impudence of a box junction unquestioned.' Good night, M. I never would've expected you to put an ad in the lonely hearts column, let alone be so brutally honest about what you do in your spare time."

Plates and cups rattled dangerously as M slammed both her hands on the table and rose up out of her chair to glare at Bond. "007, come with me NOW." She stormed out of the conference hall at a brisk pace with Bond close on her heels, but the instant they were out in the corridor, she grabbed him by the front of his suit and all but threw him into an empty room nearby. "_Explain_," she snarled at him after slamming the door shut.

Bond held up both his hands. "M, relax –"

"Don't you dare tell me to relax, James Bond. Of all the immature, childish things you've done, this takes the bloody cake!"

"What are you talking about? We take the mick out of each other all the time."

"Bond, there is a fine line between taking the mickey and slinging muck, and you pole-vaulted so far over it, I'm amazed you didn't qualify for this year's Olympics. That wasn't banter; you were just showing off because there was an attractive young woman in your presence, like you always do."

Bond folded his arms and worked his face into a confident smirk. "Eve seemed to think it was funny."

"Don't get cocky. She won't give you the time of day even if you put an ad in the lonely hearts columns."

"Well, at least she and I are on a first-name basis – _Barbara._"

The next thing Bond knew, M had seized him by the front of his jacket and slammed him up against the nearest wall, her eyes blazing and her cheeks flaring such a brilliant red, he wouldn't have been surprised if he felt the anger radiating from her body. M was a small woman, but that didn't diminish her awesome charisma, especially if she was as furious as she was right now. "If you _ever _say my name aloud again, 007," she hissed through clenched teeth, "I swear to God I will have you shot. Do I make myself clear?"

Bond couldn't answer her at first, so puzzled was he by what he saw in her eyes. Of course, he saw fury, but he swore he saw something else. Pain? Sadness? Jealousy? Certainly not that last one; what could she possibly be jealous of? Unless… _no, that's ridiculous. _Dismissing it with a mental wave of the hand, Bond lifted his chin slightly and gave her a one-word answer. "Crystal."

Still smoldering, M finally let go of Bond's lapels and backed away from him, straightening her own jacket as she did. "Good. Now get out." She glared at Bond's departing back, debating on whether or not to pick up a nearby paperweight and hurl it at him. _You bloody arrogant prat, _she silently ranted against Bond as she stalked out of the room and back out into the corridor. _You're so bloody blind, you don't even recognize a good thing when it's staring you in the face day after bloody day, clinking glasses with you, and saving your bloody stinking skin from danger because I love you, you bloody stupid fool…_

"Is everything all right, M?"

M hadn't even realized she was sitting back in her chair in the conference hall until Moneypenny's voice snapped her out of her mental rant. "I'm sorry, Moneypenny," she sighed, pressing a hand to her forehead in frustration. "He just drives me absolutely insane sometimes."

Moneypenny's brown eyes were compassionate. "If it's any consolation, ma'am, that little act of his didn't impress me. I knew he was showing off the whole time."

"Well, you've got a brain; that's good to know."

Moneypenny chuckled softly. "Is that why you're so angry with him? Because he was showing off?"

"It's not just that he was showing off, it's that he does this all the time. Just once, I'd like to give him a taste of his own medicine; let him know what it's like to be on the other end for once."

All of a sudden, Moneypenny's eyes lit up with a spark of mischief. "Maybe you can!"

M gave Moneypenny a quizzical look. "What do you mean?"

"Let's just say that if you go along with me on this, Bond's going to spot an ad from a certain single white female in an upcoming issue of the _Telegraph_." Eyes still snapping, Moneypenny pulled M into a huddle and the two of them began plotting revenge together.

* * *

Two days later, M was locking up her office when she saw Bond strutting down the corridor with a single long-stemmed red rose in his hand and a grin on his face. "Hitting town, are we?"

"Hitting town and painting it red, M," Bond replied, stopping in front of her when she addressed him. "I have a date tonight."

"Oh, really?" M said casually, slipping her keys in her pocket and shouldering her purse. "With whom?"

Bond shrugged his shoulders. "That's the mystery. I don't know."

"You don't know? What have you done, Bond; gotten yourself a mail-order bride?"

"Something like that. Believe it or not, I answered a lonely hearts ad yesterday."

"You are kidding me!" M said, faking astonishment while trying to mask the merriment in her eyes. "You of all people answered an ad in the personals?"

"It was actually a promising ad. 'Single white female, 36, blonde, blue-eyed, and curvy, seeks single white male, 43, tall, built, and blond, with eyes bluer than the sky and the initials JB. Will meet you at the Ruby and Rose at 9:00 PM Saturday, if certain work permits.' What can I say? It spoke to me."

"Oh, you think? Who would be that desperate to address you directly in a lonely hearts ad?"

"Not desperate, determined. Between you and me, I think it's Madeline Thomas from the Q Branch. She's 36 years old with long blonde hair and blue eyes, and she certainly does have curves. Not to mention she gives me the eye every single time I have to go downstairs for my next set of gadgets."

"Which eye, Bond? The hairy eye?"

"In your dreams. I'm meeting both of those beautiful blue eyes face-to-face tonight, and nobody is going to stop me from having a good time." With that, he was gone, leaving M to stare after him with a devious smile on her face. _That's what you think, James._

* * *

Later that night, M and Moneypenny were staked out in front of the Ruby and Rose pub, the two of them parked in Moneypenny's Land Rover to avoid detection. M was sitting in the passenger front seat with a pair of binoculars held to her eyes, her attention riveted on Bond, whom she could clearly see through the front window of the pub. So far, he'd ordered himself a beer and sat down to drink it, awaiting his blind date; nothing exciting.

The driver's side door opened and Moneypenny climbed in, two steaming cups of coffee and a bag of Chinese food in her arms. "Anything yet?"

"Nothing worth writing home about," M replied, gratefully accepting the coffee Moneypenny handed to her. "I appreciate you getting me dinner."

"It's nothing, ma'am. I had an itch for Chinese, and I figured you'd be hungry after a long day at the office."

"Not necessarily. I bit off the heads of a few bureaucratic imbeciles today."

Moneypenny chortled as she handed two boxes and a pair of chopsticks over to M. "Sweet and sour chicken, rice, and eggrolls."

The food was forgotten in the next instant as M lurched for her binoculars once again. "Somebody else is about to get rolled right now."

Moneypenny clapped her hands. "Excellent! Operation Japing James is now underway! What's going on?"

"Hold on…" M twiddled the knob on the side to adjust the focus. "Bogey's in play."

Even from across the street, Moneypenny could still see what M saw through the binoculars. A hideously ugly woman with tangled black hair, garish red lipstick, and a shocking pink dress was weaving her way through the crowd toward Bond's table, tapping him on the shoulder when she finally reached him. Bond looked up at her and started so violently that he nearly slopped his beer down the front of his charcoal-gray suit; both M and Moneypenny burst out laughing at the revolted look on his face. A heated conversation followed in which Bond did some yelling and the woman dished it right back to him… and then yanked him into her arms, dipped him, and planted a big fat soap-opera kiss right on his lips, holding it for a good minute while Bond struggled to get away. When he finally did, a huge red lipstick mark was smeared all over his mouth. Apparently not wanting to risk his neck being bitten as well, Bond bolted out of the pub as fast as he could go, the ugly woman in hot pursuit of him for two blocks – until she doubled back once he was out of sight and ran right up to the Land Rover, where M and Moneypenny were peeing themselves laughing over the success of their joke.

"You owe me big-time for this one," the woman said as she got in, reverting to the voice of her true gender. "Although I have to say I'll never forget the look on Bond's face in a million years."

M wiped tears of laughter from her eyes and turned to the woman in the back, who had now shucked the wig to reveal the heavily made-up face of her trusted chief of staff. "Tanner, after that performance, I will give you the pay rise of the year, although right now, I'm wishing I could give you an Oscar. You were wonderful!"

Taking the napkin Moneypenny offered him, Tanner attacked his lipsticked mouth with a vengeance. "I'm glad you think so, but I'm going to have to rinse my mouth with antiseptic when I get home. I can only pray that nobody was taking pictures."

"Iwas," M said, holding up her mobile with a grin. "I can assure you, Tanner; these will never appear on the Internet for any reason. I'm holding on to them for blackmail purposes, just in case Bond ever tries something foolish again."

* * *

"I hope you destroyed those pictures," Bond said, shaking his head at the crazy story.

"That's for me to know and you to find out," M retorted with a slightly evil grin.

"Oh, really? What would one have to do to find out?"

"Tell me that you love me."

"Is that all?"

"Not quite. Tomorrow morning, you and I are going for a ride around the countryside until we come to the highest hill here. Once we get to the top of the hill, you are going to shout to all of Scotland and the United Kingdom that you love me."

Bond laughed. "Words mean a lot to you, don't they?"

M's evil grin never faded for a second. "Just remember, James, a picture's worth a thousand words."

* * *

Surprised, were you? I hope this chapter made y'all laugh; I certainly laughed while I was writing it! For the record, I did not write those hilarious lonely hearts ads - I found them while looking for ideas for my own, but these were so priceless, I couldn't resist using them! You can find these and some others by Googling "funny lonely hearts ads" and clicking on the first link that pops up. Until next time, my darlings, please keep your wonderful feedback coming!


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